


Animal I Have Become

by tridecaphilia



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Animal Abuse, Dog Fighting, Feral Behavior, M/M, Rehabilitation, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-14
Updated: 2015-12-16
Packaged: 2018-04-26 09:36:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 21,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4999780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tridecaphilia/pseuds/tridecaphilia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before they died, Minho's parents were known for being able to rehabilitate any animal, even half-human ones. Now they're gone, so Minho's the one Jorge calls when he breaks up a were-fighting ring. Which puts Minho in charge of one feral Alpha named Newt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I can't escape this hell.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has been in my head for ages and is finally getting on the page. I plan to update every Wednesday.

His dream started out well. He was with his parents, back when the farm was a farm.

“Can I ride him, Dad?” he called, eyes on the horse his father was training.

His dad laughed. “Tell you what,” he said. “When I’ve got him ready to ride, you’ll be the first one to ride him.”

He was too young to realize that this horse would never be ready to ride again. Too young to realize his father couldn’t do everything he wanted to for every animal he wanted to do it for, and would eventually give up on this horse so he could work with the other animals he’d taken in.

He wasn’t too young, though, to realize something was wrong when the siren started.

“Dad?” he asked. “What is that?”

But his dad wasn’t there. The siren was getting louder.

No, not a siren. A phone. His phone was ringing.

The knowledge jolted him awake. His phone was set to silent at night. It only rang for a few people--precious few, for the past two years. He grabbed it and answered. “‘Lo?”

“Minho,” said a man’s voice. “Need you here, _hermano_.”

The lone Spanish word told him which of his few priority contacts had called him at the ungodly hour of--he glanced at the clock--12:49 in the morning. “Jorge?” he asked, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. “The hell’s going on? What do you need me for this late?”

“We did a raid, _hermano_ ,” Jorge said grimly. “We thought it was a dogfighting ring. We were wrong.”

“Wrong?” Minho stifled a yawn. His stomach was turning cold. There were only a few things that would prompt Jorge calling him that were worse than a dogfighting ring. “What was it that’s so bad you need to call me?”

He knew it by the silence before Jorge answered. “Weres,” the Latino said. “We broke up a were-fighting ring. And it gets worse.”

“Worse how?” It was already, as far as Minho was concerned, about as bad as it got.

“We got a live one. Feral.” Jorge paused. “An Alpha.”

~

Minho’s parents had made their living from their farm, but their life’s passion had been rehabilitating animals. They’d made a name for themselves as being able to rehabilitate virtually any animal, regardless of the treatment it had suffered. And when weres had come out and were-fighting rings had grown in popularity, back when Minho was just six years old, his parents had become the first licensed werewolf rehabilitators. And if they’d survived long enough to teach him how they did it, he wouldn’t be sweating looking at the police precinct.

There were more cars here than he was used to seeing at the precinct at one AM. He’d been here before, after smaller raids of dogfighting rings. But were-fighting was enough to scare a whole department out of bed. There was always the threat of the local pack declaring war.

Not that there had been a pack in the area for years. And now Minho knew why.

He sighed, turning off his engine and going up to the door.

If it had been any other kind of call, he would have called out for Jorge when he entered. Weres, not so much. He kept quiet as he went through, getting his name tag from the desk sergeant. He was sadly close to being a regular here.

The bullpen was eerily quiet, like he’d gone into a graveyard instead of a police station. People worked at their desks or talked, but they kept quiet. Minho could see why as soon as he came in view of the holding cell.

When Jorge said they’d found an Alpha in the ring, Minho had thought of a were built more or less along his own lines--big, bulky, visibly strong, magical strength enhancing what was already there. When he’d said feral, Minho had imagined a were that snapped and snarled at the guards and tried to rip apart the silver-coated bars of the holding cell.

What he saw was a young man so thin his collarbones jutted out like they were made of metal, a man who sat curled up on the bench in the holding cell, who was perfectly still and quiet but watched Minho with such intent that it was an effort not to take a step back.

_Don’t show you’re afraid,_ he reminded himself, and shoved his hands in his pockets and took a step forward.

The were didn’t move, just watched Minho carefully. He kept his eyes on his face, but Minho was sure he was taking in more than just that. Weres had good senses, they could find things out if they wanted. And something in this one’s eyes gave him the impression he had more skills than just his nose.

“You’re not feral at all, are you?” Minho asked, keeping his voice down. No one in the bullpen seemed to hear him, but he knew the were would.

The were didn’t answer.

“That’s him,” Jorge said, appearing at Minho’s side. “Creepy little _ese_ , isn’t he?”

Minho turned to face him, reluctantly breaking eye contact with the were. Jorge, of all the people in the precinct, looked like he’d actually slept before coming in. His eyes were alert, shoulders back, jaw set as he looked at the were in the cell.

“That’s one way of putting it,” Minho murmured, looking the man over again. The were hadn’t taken his eyes off him. He seemed not to even notice Jorge.

“You sure he’s feral?” Minho asked, taking a slow step closer. He didn’t think he was. A feral were would have growled at him for maintaining eye contact so long. This one was different. Wary, cautious. Beaten, Minho’s mind supplied.

“Hasn’t said a word,” Jorge said with a shrug. “Flashed his eyes a few times. What do you call it?”

“Not sure yet,” Minho murmured, stepping back and turning to Jorge. “Let’s go into an interrogation room and you can tell me everything.”

“Shit, I’ll tell you out here,” Jorge said, but he put a hand on Minho’s shoulder and guided him back to the interrogation rooms.

“We got a call a week ago,” he said when they were seated inside the soundproof walls. “This guy heard howls when he was driving home. We thought at first it was a coyote, but animal control set out traps and didn’t catch anything. So we had a team drive down there around the time, and one of them identified the howls as fighting dogs. Identified where it was coming from, too. Tonight we staked the place out, finally got probable cause to go in. Come to find out, it wasn’t dogs at all, but weres. Someone shot every last one of them when they saw the lights and heard the sirens. Everyone’s blaming everyone else for that, and swearing up and down that the weres consented.”

“They didn’t shoot this one?” Minho asked. The hairs were standing up on the back of his neck. They would’ve shot the Alpha. An Alpha’s word carried a lot of weight in court. They were permitted to testify on the behalf of anyone in their pack, living or dead. For this one to be alive…

“Oh, they shot him all right,” Jorge said grimly. “Right in the head. _Ese_ healed by the time we finished rounding up the humans.”

~

Once again Minho stood in front of the holding cell, the were meeting his eyes. This time, though, things were different.

He shoved his hands in the pockets of his jacket so the were wouldn’t see they were shaking. He kept eye contact as long as he could stand and then very deliberately turned his back to the Alpha, facing Jorge.

“The collar?” he asked. He’d noticed the plastic and metal contraption, and knew what it was. “You left it on him.”

“‘Course we did,” Jorge said. “He healed from a bullet to the brain. No one wanted to risk him attacking, ‘cause we couldn’t have stopped him.”

“Guess I’m getting the remote, then?” Minho asked.

Jorge nodded. “Just as soon as CSU finishes swabbing it for prints, it’s all yours.”

Minho couldn’t deny he’d feel better once he had the remote to the collar in hand. An Alpha who could heal from a headshot worried him just as much as it did Jorge.

He turned and looked back at the Alpha. The man hadn’t moved an inch.

“What’s his name?” Minho asked, leaning in to try to see the collar. The were didn’t move at all, even though Minho was well within arm’s reach if he lunged.

Jorge put a hand on his shoulder to pull him back. Minho resisted a moment before letting himself be maneuvered. “Newt,” Jorge said, “according to the tag.”

Minho took another look at the man. He guessed the were was in his early to mid-twenties, only a little younger than Minho himself. His hair was a blond mess that looked like it had been cut with kitchen shears. His eyes were dark, although they flickered red every so often, when Minho met them for too long. He was skinny as a rail, which was a surprise. Weres burned calories faster than humans, but most of them ate enough to compensate.

“Did they all look like that?” he asked, not bothering to keep his voice down. “Like they were starving?”

Jorge shook his head. “No, most of them looked like you’d expect,” he admitted. “We don’t know yet if the way he looks is by choice or force--if he was giving his food to his pack or if they just took it. Doesn’t seem to have impacted his strength at all.”

Minho nodded distantly. “You rounded up the whole gang?”

“Yep,” Jorge said. “Don’t know how many we’ll be able to hold, though. The farm was registered to a shell company, and while we untangle the web of those, everyone in the ring’s saying it belonged to someone else.”

“Of course they are,” Minho muttered, glaring at the collar on the were’s neck. He was surprised and alarmed to hear a quiet growl, and snapped his eyes back up to the were. The blond’s shoulders had gone up defensively, head lowering. His posture was almost afraid, but the growl was unmistakably coming from him.

Jorge hesitated, uneasy. “I’ll check if CSU’s done with the remote yet.”

As soon as he left, Minho approached the cell. He crouched down, looking up at the were, meeting his eyes. The tension level didn’t change. If the were had decided Minho was a threat, crouching hadn’t changed his mind.

“Newt,” Minho said, trying out the sound of the name. He watched the were for some flicker of recognition, but there was no change in his expression. “Newt,” Minho said again, and thought he saw one of the were’s eyebrows quirk up a fraction in response.

Minho took a breath. This were wasn’t feral. He could understand. So Minho would talk to him like he could.

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” he said. “You’re going to go home with me. I live on a farm, you’ll have some freedom.” He saw the were’s eyes widen a fraction but kept on. “I won’t use that remote unless I have to. I’m going to help you, as much as I can.”

He straightened and turned to face Jorge when the man returned, a small plastic bag in hand. “Here you go,” the Latino man said, eyes fixed on the were--on Newt.

“Thanks,” Minho said. He slid the small plastic box out of the baggie, examining it. There was only one button, depressed so it wouldn’t get hit on accident. Part of him wanted to press it just to see if it worked, or if it had a thumbprint scanner or something hidden on it. The other part wouldn’t risk ruining the trust he hadn’t even begun to build.

He turned back to Newt, holding up the remote. “We’re going home,” he said. “You’re going to behave, or I’m going to test this out. Understand?”

The were didn’t move.

“Nod if you understand me,” he said, moving a thumb to hover over the remote. He didn’t want to use force, but he needed to know before he brought Newt home--was he feral, or just nonverbal?

The were nodded.

 


	2. So many times I've tried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, remember how I said this would be updated once a week? That was before I wrote two chapters in two days. This'll be updated biweekly, Wednesday and Sunday.

Newt flinched when Minho reached for the keys to his car. Minho frowned, watching him, but hit the unlock button. The were relaxed when he heard the click of the locks opening.

Minho was going around to open the door to the cab when Newt jumped. One clean leap, and he landed in the bed of the pickup truck and curled back into his crouch.

Minho stared for a second before he caught himself. “You could sit in the cab, you know.”

Newt looked down at him, then glanced at the pocket where the remote to the collar was.

“No, I’m not going to zap you if you sit back there,” Minho said, hoping he was interpreting that right. “Or in the cab.”

At that, Newt settled down to sit cross-legged against the wall of the pickup bed.

Minho sighed and got into the cab of the truck, hoping no one pulled him over for having a passenger sitting in the bed.

~

Thankfully, it was mostly back roads out of town to Minho’s farm, and no one tried to stop him.

He got out of the truck when he reached the farm, slamming the door a little harder than he meant to. He'd felt the were's eyes on him the whole way back, and it was unnerving.

"Come on," he told Newt. "Out of there. Feet on the ground, come on."

Newt stared at him so long Minho's fingers itched to zap the were, but he held still. Finally his patience was rewarded. Newt jumped down from the truck as easily as he'd jumped in, landing in a crouch at Minho's feet.

Minho sighed. "Dude. Seriously, stand up."

Newt watched him warily, not saying anything.

"Look," Minho said. "I don't know everything that happened to you back there, but I know it was bad. But you need to know that I won't do any of that. I won't hurt you as long as you don't try to hurt me first. But I am gonna ask you to act like a human. Stand up straight when you walk. Sleep in a bed. Eat with a fork and knife. Use the toilet. I won't punish you if you don't, but I'd rather you did. So stand up. Please."

Newt hesitated, eyes flicking between Minho's face and the pocket where the remote was hidden. Finally he stood up, hunched over to make himself small, hands shoved in the pockets of his threadbare jeans.

Well. It was a start.

“This is my family’s farm,” he said, gesturing. “That’s the stable,” he pointed, “which is the only place you’re not allowed. Not there, and not in the paddock if the horses are grazing. Those are how I make my living--I give riding lessons and train and rehab horses. I can’t afford for you to scare them or savage them.

“Out front there’s vegetables,” he went on, pointing to the area past the driveway. “I only grow enough to feed myself. You can go in there, but don’t piss on anything and don’t rip anything up.” He felt like he’d covered that with the ‘acting like a human’ bit, but it wouldn’t hurt to say it again.

"Come on," he added, turning toward the house. It had been expanded over the years, funded by generations selling off the land to neighboring farms, until it didn't really qualify as a farmhouse anymore, just a house.

"My great-grandparents bought this place in the forties," he said as he led the way in. "Right after World War II, when they immigrated from Korea. They wanted to be farmers. Their kids preferred livestock to crops, so they needed less land, started selling it off. Then my parents came along, and they weren't interested in raising animals so much as rehabilitating them. They'd train any animal, rehabilitate them if they needed it. Saved a lot of horses and dogs from being put down, got them back into good homes." He looked over at Newt, who was examining the entryway and sniffing the air. "They were the first people to be licensed to rehabilitate werewolves," he added. "Originally the license was introduced in a private bill just for them."

He had a feeling Newt was listening now, but the were wasn't looking at him so he couldn't be sure.

“They taught me as much as they could,” he said. “So I’m in charge of it now. Means you’re stuck with me until you start talking again.”

The were’s eyes flicked to him, widening so minutely Minho wasn’t sure he’d seen it at all.

“At least until then,” he amended. “You’re stuck until you can re-enter society like a human.”

Newt turned his back, examining the family photos lining the walls. Minho sighed and let it drop.

“Come on,” he said. “I’ll show you where you’ll be sleeping tonight.” And on into tomorrow, most likely--it was past four in the morning already.

He led Newt through the house to the living room, gesturing to the couch. “I’ll get you a blanket,” he said. “Tomorrow I’ll put sheets on the bed in the guest room, but this’ll do for tonight.”

Newt watched the couch like it might explode.

“It’s safe,” Minho said. “You’re safe here.”

Slowly, hesitantly, eyes flicking back to Minho like he expected at any moment he’d be zapped, Newt made his way over to the couch and curled up on it. He lay in a position that would have been awkward for a human, spine bent more like a dog’s.

“Sweet dreams,” Minho muttered, turning to get the blanket.

~

Minho woke up three hours later to the sound of whimpers and scratching.

“Newt?” he called, getting out of bed slowly. He picked up the remote from the bedside table. He hoped he wouldn’t need it, but scared animals did dangerous things. He padded over to the door as quietly as he could, peering around it.

There was Newt, crouched on his knees and tugging desperately at the knob of the door to the garage. He scratched at it desperately, but he hadn’t seemed to realize he needed to turn it to get results.

“Newt?” Minho asked quietly, approaching. “What do you need?”

The were didn’t answer, didn’t even seem to have noticed Minho was there. When he got closer, the bigger man could see that there were tear stains on Newt’s face, which were flashing between red and brown.

"Newt," Minho said gently. "I need you to back up so I can open the door."

No response. The were didn't seem to have heard him at all.

"Newt," he said sharply. "Back off. Now."

Newt made that animal whining sound again and scrambled back from the door. Minho sighed--he hadn't wanted to scare the were--and opened the door to the garage.

Newt bolted through the open door as soon as it was clear, whining again. Minho looked in just in time to see the were crawl into one of the cages and pull the door shut.

Minho sighed, scratching his head. The cages weren't built to hold weres, they were built for dogs. They were so small that Newt had to curl up to fit inside. "You don't like the couch?" he asked, feeling lost and out of his depth.

Newt didn't answer, just curled up in that doglike ball and whined again.

Minho sighed. So much for sleeping in a bed. "Alright," he said. "Yell if you need anything."

He closed the door, not tight, so Newt could push it open if he wanted to, and retreated to his bedroom.

How had Newt even known the cage was there? he wondered as he climbed back into bed. Had he smelled the metal? Or was it just the same setup as his captors had had?

He fell asleep wondering, and this time stayed that way.

~

He'd really had no plan of eating breakfast, given the time he'd finally gotten to sleep. So he wasn't disappointed to wake up and find that the clock read two in the afternoon. His first thought, in fact, was relief that Newt hadn't woken him up earlier. Following close on the heels of that relief was panic that maybe Newt hadn't woken him up because he'd run.

Stupid, he told himself. Newt had no reason to run, nowhere to go. He'd trusted the were last night to stay put, why not now?

Because he was half asleep last night, said the cruel part of his mind.

Almost against his will Minho found himself putting on jeans and shoes and heading for the garage.

The cage was empty.

Don't panic, he told himself. Maybe he actually used the couch.

Newt, of course, wasn't there. Nor was he in the bathroom, the kitchen, or on the spare bed. The window in that room, however, had been opened.

Outside. Newt was outside, who knew how far.

Minho bolted out the front door, ready to jump in his truck and track down the were--and then he stopped.

There Newt was, in the front yard of the farm, crawling on hands and feet like a dog rather than a human, sniffing around the vegetable garden.

"Newt," Minho called. "Come here."

Even from this distance he could see the were grow rigid, tense from the order. Slowly, Newt turned around to face him.

"Come on." Like he really was talking to a dog, Minho knelt and held out a hand. "You're not in trouble. You scared me is all. Come here, okay?"

Slowly, Newt crawled the distance toward Minho. He didn't seem eager to get there.

Minho's father had told him once that weres were half animal. Rehabilitating one meant treating that animal half with as much respect as the human half. So when the blond finally reached him, Minho stroked his hair back behind his ear.

"Maybe we'll go into town this week," he said. "Get you a real haircut. Or I can do it with a razor, but I don't think you'd like having it as short as mine."

Newt didn't answer. He'd lowered his head to look at the ground, shoulders slumped in submissive posture. If he'd had a tail, Minho would bet money it'd be between his legs. He was scared of Minho's anger, no matter what the Asian told him.

Minho sighed. "I'm not going to convince you today to trust me," he said. "But you'll learn eventually." He stood up. "Come on. Breakfast. Or lunch, whatever."

He went back into the house. After a minute of hesitation, Newt followed.

 


	3. But I'm still caged inside.

Newt wasn't eating.

It had been two full days since Minho brought the were home, and in that time he'd almost given up on rehabilitating him. He'd given the were five meals, and not one of them had been touched. Minho almost thought the smaller man was deliberately starving himself to death.

He was just boxing up the leftovers from his latest barely-home-cooked meal when his phone rang. Jorge.

"Hey, _hermano,"_ the Latino man said. "How's our patient?"

Minho turned, unsurprised to find Newt crouched in the doorway behind him. The were was good at sneaking around, he'd discovered. After the first day, he'd learned to warn Minho before he went out, to ask permission of a sort. He was quiet, hard to find if he didn't want to be found. But of course he'd be here for this conversation. He'd want to know what was being said.

"He's still not talking," Minho said. "Not eating much, either. Why, is there news?"

"You could say that," Jorge said. "Brenda untangled the shell companies. We know who owned the farm. Man by the name of Janson."

At the name, Newt stumbled back like he'd been struck. Before Minho could react, he'd bolted for the garage.

"Newt!" Minho yelled, but the were had already opened the door--Minho had had the knob replaced with a lever-style handle since Newt still refused to use his hands like a human--and run in. Minho followed, knowing what he'd see. Sure enough, Newt had curled into the far larger cage Minho had had delivered that morning, and was shaking and whimpering, huddled against the far wall.

"Minho?" Jorge asked. "You okay?"

Minho let out a breath. "Yeah, I'm good. Janson's the guy, Jorge."

"Did he tell you that?" Jorge was tense, Minho could feel it even over the phone.

"Not exactly," Minho admitted. "He ran into his cage."

"You keep him in a cage, _hermano?_ "

"I gave him the couch," Minho said shortly. "There's a bed set up for him. He won't use either. Don’t tell me how to do my job, _hermano.”_

His accent was so bad Jorge actually laughed. “Don’t quit your day job,” he said. “So he’s in a cage by choice?”

“Yeah,” Minho said with a sigh. “And he’s not eating, either.” He shut the door to the garage to give Newt space. “Who’s this Janson guy?”

Jorge hesitated. “What do you mean he’s not eating?”

“I’m dealing with it,” he snapped, walking further away from the garage, hoping Newt couldn’t hear him. “Who’s Janson?”

“Some corporate guy,” Jorge said after another pause. “Who’s currently claiming he was lending the farm to a friend and that the friend must have been the one organizing the fights.”

“It’s not a friend, Jorge, it’s him. Newt wouldn’t go running if Janson was just a front man.”

“That would mean a lot more if the kid could talk, _hermano_ ,” Jorge sighed. “Janson will say that the friend taught the weres to fear his name, and we can’t prove otherwise.”

“There’s something we can do,” Minho growled. “There has to be.” He hadn’t committed to rehabilitating this were only to see him put down like the horse he’d hoped to ride. He wasn’t his parents. He only had one charge--all the horses he had right now were for riding lessons. He wasn’t giving up on his charge.

“There is,” Jorge said shortly. “Get him talking. You think you can do that, hermano?”

Minho glanced at the door to the garage. “I have to get him eating first.”

“Then do that,” Jorge ordered, and hung up.

~

Another day. At least Minho knew now that Newt was eating--he’d seen the were devour a rabbit that had had the misfortune to wander into the vegetable garden.

Of course, he’d eaten it like a wolf--hadn’t even skinned it before he’d dug in. His teeth must have been wolf-shaped too, to eat it that fast. Which left Minho with somewhat mixed feelings. On the one hand, his charge wasn’t starving. On the other, he wasn’t any closer to human than he’d been three days ago.

_Patience,_ he reminded himself, turning away from the window. He went to the bathroom and started running a bath. Newt had to be covered in blood after that.

The front door hadn't been opened. Newt had figured out the garage door opener, but still refused to use his hands for anything more complicated than pushing or pulling. Minho would've thought the were had forgotten the use of his hands, except that he seemed to have no problem figuring out how to get his jeans undone to use the toilet.

When the garage door closed and the back door was pushed open, Minho was waiting. He didn't miss the flash of fear in Newt's eyes, or the way he pressed himself back against the door.

"There's a bath," Minho said shortly, pointing down the hall. "Wash up, or I'll hold you down and do it for you." Threats weren't exactly the best way of talking to a were, but Minho had figured out by now that they had the best chance of making Newt respond. Sure enough, the were slunk down the hallway, turning to keep Minho in eyeshot at all times until there was a door between them.

Minho sighed, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand. Newt shouldn’t be afraid of Minho. Minho should be afraid of _Newt_. Newt was an Alpha who could rip Minho’s head off with one hand, but he was a shrinking violet, afraid of even Minho’s shadow.

_One problem at a time,_ he told himself. Get Newt acting like a human. Humans could be scared, but they had ways of dealing with it. Just get Newt human enough to deal with the courts and then work on the rest.

He retreated to the kitchen to make another dinner that wouldn’t be eaten.

~

In his dream, it was two years ago, just a few months before the crash. He was walking with his father down the driveway, approaching the dark-skinned were crouched at the end, growling at the neighbor.

“Come on now, Alby,” Minho’s father scolded gently, so low the neighbor wouldn’t hear him. “He’s harmless,” he called louder to the neighbor. “Just scared. Take a few steps back, he’ll relax.”

The neighbor obeyed, nearly tripping over his feet as he did. “I was just coming to let you know. Some of your mail got in my mailbox.”

Minho’s father nodded. “Thank you,” he said, and walked slowly up the driveway until he reached Alby. “Go back to Minho, son,” he told the were quietly, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder. “For me.”

Alby looked between the humans, lip still curled.

“For me,” Minho’s father said again.

Reluctantly, Alby retreated to stand with Minho.

The dream skipped forward, to after dinner that night. Minho was helping his father wash the dishes now.

“Why do you do that?” Minho asked. “Talk to him like he understands?”

“He understands more than you think,” his father said, handing him a plate to dry. “Even if he were truly feral, wolves understand as much as any animal. They understand tone and body language. They know when you’re lying and when you mean them harm.”

He handed Minho a pan and went on, “But there’s an important thing you need to remember about weres, Min. They’re not just animals. They’re half human. If you don’t respect that human half, how can you earn the respect of either?”

Minho woke up with a jolt.

~

When Newt woke up, Minho was seated outside the cage, remote in hand. The were backed against the wall of the cage, eyes wide, looking caught between a growl and a whimper.

“I’ve been thinking,” Minho said. Slowly, watching Newt’s eyes track him, he set the remote on the floor. “About some stuff my dad told me.”

He slid the remote across the floor out of reach and sat back, watching, waiting. If Newt was going to show any aggression, he’d do it now.

The were stayed still.

“My dad said,” Minho went on, unlatching the cage, “that you guys--weres--you have two halves.” He snorted. “Guess everyone knows that, don’t they? But he said something else about it, and that got me thinking.”

He opened the cage door. Newt shrunk back against the far wall, fingers curled into the cage. He looked like he’d tear a new door through it and run away, but he didn’t.

Minho paused, flexing his fingers. If he was wrong, he was about to get his throat ripped out.

_How can you earn his respect if you don’t give him yours?_  

Slowly, telegraphing his every move, he crawled into the cage.

“I’ve been trying to get you to trust me,” he said, sitting just inside the door, just within Newt’s reach. “But I haven’t been trusting you.” He reached out, still being careful, and put his fingers on the collar.

“Is this going to go off if I take it off?” he asked Newt.

Newt shook his head, a quick jerky motion that only telegraphed how scared he was.

How much had Janson fucked this kid up, Minho wondered, if he was more afraid of being outside without a collar than in a cage with one?

Quickly now, he unfastened the collar and pulled it away from Newt’s neck.

For a long, terrifying moment, Newt didn’t move. His eyes went wider and flashed red, and Minho was sure he was about to have his throat ripped out after all.

Then Newt relaxed. It was like watching the sand run out of a broken hourglass. He deflated, all at once, swallowing like he couldn’t believe the collar was gone.

Minho backed up, slowly, like the neighbor had with Alby, until he was outside the cage. He stood up and held out a hand. “Come on,” he said. “I’ll make us some breakfast.”


	4. Somebody get me through this nightmare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was overly optimistic when I decided to post this twice a week. Scaling back to Wednesdays only, because I have a full class load and two jobs. Oh well, y'all get it now.

Step one: Get Newt eating. Accomplished.

Step two:

...Actually, he didn’t know.

Minho might be the closest thing in three states to a licensed werewolf rehabilitator, but he wasn’t one. He’d learned what he could from his parents, but he didn’t know nearly enough to handle a were who was barely this side of feral.

He wasn’t a thinking person most of the time. He wasn’t the type to slow down and second-guess and contemplate his actions. But charging ahead hadn’t gotten him anywhere with Newt. Thinking, rusty as he was at it, would have to do.

“Okay,” he said aloud, slicing off another chunk of meat from the steak he was turning into stir-fry, “what’s the goal?”

That was easy. He needed to get Newt human and talking. Ideally, he needed to get the were on the witness stand to testify against Janson. If Minho’s suspicions were right, Newt had been the Alpha of the whole pack Janson had been forcing to fight. That would make Newt legally allowed to testify for all of them--according to Jorge’s count, eight besides the Alpha.

He stared at the strips of meat, scraping them into the bowl with the marinade. “So how the hell do I get there?” he asked himself.

Newt was eating. He was even managing a fork and knife. But the rest was slow going. He still preferred crouching to standing, still slept in the dog bed in the cage instead of a real bed. He’d taken one more bath at Minho’s ordering, but that time he hadn’t washed his hair until Minho had done it for him. Surprisingly, even without the collar the were was meek enough to let Minho do it without a fight.

_New goal,_ he told himself. _Get him back to acting like an Alpha._

Of course, that wouldn’t help unless he also acted like a human.

He washed his hands, looking out the window at the pasture where the horses grazed. The grass was starting to turn brown as winter approached. It was shaggy in places where the horses had decided they didn’t like the grass. The pattern reminded him of Newt’s hair, which two weeks after Minho had taken him in still had that awful kitchen-shears cut.

Minho smiled to himself and flicked the water off his hands. That was step two.

~

“Come here.”

Newt looked over from the window he’d been staring out of. He frowned at the coat in Minho’s hands, and tilted his head to the side curiously.

“Come on,” Minho said again. “Put this on. We’re going into town.”

Newt’s eyes widened and he pressed himself against the back of the couch, shaking his head.

“Yes,” Minho said. “You’ve been wearing the same clothes for two weeks. They stink. And you can’t wear any of mine. We’re getting you new ones.”

More head shaking.

“Newt,” Minho snapped. He knew better, but impatience overrode judgment. “ _Come._ ”

Newt flinched, then crawled down to the ground. He approached Minho on hands and knees, head down, moving more like a beaten dog than an Alpha were.

Minho sighed, crouching down. “Dude,” he said. “The rules still apply. Stand like a human, put this on. We’re going into town. You’re going to sit in the cab like a human, we’re going to go clothes shopping like humans, and you’re going to get a haircut that wasn’t done with safety scissors.”

Newt didn’t look up. A soft animal whimper came from his throat.

Another sigh. Minho stroked Newt’s hair gently. The were flinched but didn’t pull away, so he kept it up. “You’re not in trouble,” he murmured. “You’re not, I promise. Just get up and put on the coat so we can go.”

It took more coaxing and a surprising amount of petting, but finally Newt pulled the coat on and got to his feet, hiding behind Minho as they went out to the truck. Minho would have been uneasy with a were at his back if he wasn’t sure Newt was using him as a shield.

The neighbor was out again, waving to him. “Mr. Park!” he called. “Minho!”

Minho hesitated, feeling Newt stumble as he stopped. “Wait in the truck,” he told the were, unlocking it with the remote. He waited until Newt was safely inside to approach the neighbor. “What’s going on?” he asked.

The neighbor tucked his hands in his pockets. Minho had barely spoken to any of his neighbors in the two years since he’d inherited the farm, didn’t even know this one’s name. He did, however, recognize the look on his face. Other neighbors had looked like that when his father took Alby into town.

“Just wondered how long the were’s gonna be staying,” the neighbor said slowly. He had an accent like he’d moved in from somewhere further south than West Virginia.

Minho frowned. “As long as it takes,” he said shortly. “Why, you got a problem?”

“Weres disturb the animals,” the man said. “Just worried about them.”

If Minho had been a were himself, he would have growled. As it was he could feel the hackles on his neck rising.

“This farm has been used to rehabilitate animals for longer than I’ve been alive,” he said flatly. “It’s been used to rehabilitate weres for four years. You’ve had plenty of warning. Newt stays as long as he needs to.”

He spun on his heel and stalked back to the car.

He forced himself to calm down when he saw Newt’s wide eyes and pale face. He smiled as gently as he could, buckling himself in. “I’m not mad at you,” he promised, brushing the hair back from Newt’s face. He didn’t miss the way the tension bled out of the were at the gentle petting. “I’m mad at him. I’m not going to take it out on you.”

He started the truck and headed for town.

Newt waited all of two minutes before pushing the coat off his sleeves and dumping it on the floor. Minho shook his head. “Put it back on,” he said, keeping his voice even.

Newt frowned at him, putting a hand on Minho’s cheek. It was hot.

Minho rolled his eyes. “I know, I know, weres run hot,” he said. “But we’re not parading you around as a were. As far as anyone in town’s concerned, you’re human.”

Newt frowned deeper at that and pointed to his throat.

“Not all humans can talk either, you know,” Minho said. “Just don’t growl at anyone.”

Another frown, and the were looked at his feet where he’d dropped the coat. Reluctantly, he pulled it on again.

“Thank you,” Minho said.

Newt looked out the window and didn’t answer. That was okay. Minho didn’t expect him to speak. It was enough that he proved he understood.

“Okay,” he said, turning into the parking lot of a thrift store. “You’re shopping my way today. We start at the bottom and work up until we have a decent wardrobe for you. All right?”

Newt nodded, toying with the buttons of the coat. He’d left it open, but at least he hadn’t taken it off again.

“Come on, then,” Minho said, getting out of the car.

Newt looked at him, frowning.

Minho sighed. Of course. The door handle. Newt could pull the door closed, but couldn’t or wouldn’t open it again. He went around the truck and opened the door. Now the were jumped out easily, landing in a crouch before straightening to a hunched position that kept his head lower than Minho’s. Minho had the insane urge to pat his head, but refrained and turned to the thrift store. “Let’s go in.”

Estimating Newt’s size was a trick. First, because the were was so much smaller than Minho himself. Minho had never been so skinny in his left. Second, because he’d gained three pounds in the week he’d been with Minho, and Minho intended to keep the trend going until Newt didn’t look like he’d blow away in a strong wind. Which meant whatever Minho got him wouldn’t fit a month from now. That, on the other hand, was a fantastic point in support of starting at a thrift store.

“What are you,” Minho asked, looking Newt over, “thirty-thirty-two? Twenty-eight-thirty?”

Newt frowned, like he didn’t understand the numbers.

Minho sighed. Sometimes he could look at Newt and forget that there was more wrong in his head than just his lack of voice. Hell, he’d felt that way in the truck, when Newt communicated by touch and gesture. But now it was apparent that, like working a doorknob, this was something Newt had forgotten.

“We’ll figure it out,” Minho said. At least the were still remembered how to work a button and zipper. Minho wouldn’t have to change his clothes for him. “Come on,” he added, and headed for the jeans.

Twenty-eight seemed about right when he held it up to Newt’s waist, but the were had long legs. Minho grumbled about jeans that were too short until the were started shrinking away.

“I’m not mad at you,” Minho sighed, grabbing Newt’s sleeve and tugging him toward another size of jeans to try.

Finally he got a few that looked like they’d fit. “Into the changing room,” he said, putting them in Newt’s hands. “That means you go in there,” he pointed, “take off the ones you’re wearing, and put those on. If they fit--that means they go all the way to your feet and don’t fall off you or pinch your waist--bring them to me. If they don’t, leave them. Got it?”

Newt looked a little dazed. Minho was starting to worry. He didn’t know if it was because of the lights and noise--more than Newt had been exposed to since Jorge saved him--or because of the rapid-fire orders, but the were didn’t seem to be coping with being out here.

“You’re okay,” he said, stroking Newt’s hair behind his ears. “Just go try them on, okay?”

Finally, after a hesitation so long Minho thought he’d zoned out, Newt turned and went where he’d been directed.

Minho couldn’t help a sigh of relief. That was done. Now for shirts.

Five minutes later he returned to the fitting room with his arms piled high with clothes, only to realize his mistake. The door to the fitting room pulled closed--but like the door to the truck, Newt couldn’t open it again.

“Shit,” he muttered, tucking the shirts under one arm and knocking on the door to the room. “Newt? You in there?”

Nothing. Nothing except, when Minho strained his ears, a low animal whine.

“Newt,” he said, quietly enough that no one could hear but the were inside. “You have to open the door.”

Another whine, slightly louder than the first.

“You know how,” Minho promised. “Or you did once. Just put your hand on the door handle and push down and away from you. It’ll open.”

Silence, then a rattle. Minho sighed.

“You can do this,” he promised. “Just do like I’m telling you and open the door.”

He was seriously starting to consider crawling under the door and opening it for the were when the door finally opened, revealing a very scared Newt. The were wore his original jeans and shirt. The ones he’d tried on were in two crumpled heaps on the floor.

Newt shrank back when he saw Minho, eyes wide, whimpering low in his throat. Minho went into the fitting room, setting down the shirts he’d brought, holding out a hand.

“It’s just me,” he said. “You know me. Come on, it’s okay. I’m not mad at you.”

When the were didn’t seem about to bite him, Minho combed his fingers through the soft blond hair. Newt’s eyes fluttered shut.

“Did any of the jeans fit?” Minho asked when Newt seemed calm again.

Newt frowned like he didn’t understand.

“Let me see?” Minho asked. “Try them on again?”

Newt shook his head, quick jerky motions, and scrunched his nose.

“Why not?” Minho was trying not to be impatient with the were, but he needed to get Newt clothes and get him home before he broke down or attacked someone. “Do they not fit?”

Newt scrunched his nose again, sniffing hard.

“They smell bad?” Minho guessed.

A small, sharp nod.

Minho sighed. “All of them?”

Another nod.

Minho put a hand to his forehead. New clothes would cost three times as much as these, at least--but if the were didn’t like the smell, he wouldn’t wear the clothes. He’d wear the same ones that he was wearing now until they were so filthy they could stand up on their own.

He should have expected this, really. Weres had incredible noses and were highly territorial. Wearing someone else’s discarded clothes _would_ be a problem.

He sighed. “There’s a mall not far from here,” he said. “We’ll go there instead, okay?”

The were reluctantly nodded.

~

There was one more thing to do, once they had a week’s worth of clothes for Newt, and that was to fix his kitchen-shears haircut.

“They’re not going to cut you,” Minho promised when Newt seemed reluctant to go in. “They’re going to fix your haircut. Unless you like looking like you got attacked by a lawnmower.”

Newt glanced nervously between Minho and the salon. He shook his head again.

“Please,” Minho said. Threats wouldn’t work this time. They’d only put Newt on edge, and the last thing he needed was for Newt to attack someone because they had scissors and he was scared. “Just--it’ll take twenty minutes and then we’ll go home. Promise.”

Finally, _finally,_ they got Newt into the salon and into a chair. The woman who was cutting his hair chatted on and on until Minho quietly told her that Newt was nervous around new people and asked her to be quiet. She agreed, and he tipped her generously for the consideration.

“Home now,” Minho promised at the end. Newt’s hair was considerably less shaggy, still longer than Minho’s but now even and actually kind of--Minho hesitated to use the word--nice. The cut suited the were.

Newt bounced out of the chair to his feet and all but ran for the door.

“Hold on!” Minho called. “The truck’s locked, you can’t get in until I get there!”

Newt paused at the door, bouncing nervously on his feet and looking around with the air of someone waiting for an attack.

Minho hurried to finish paying so he could go. “He hasn’t been out in a while,” he told the woman, handing her the signed copy of the receipt. “He’ll be fine.”

She nodded, looking skeptical. Minho ignored that look and went to get Newt and take him home.

~

They were home and Minho was almost asleep when a sudden sound jolted him awake. He sat up, suddenly alert, watching and listening for the sound.

It came again. This time Minho recognized it: the doorknob was rattling. He started to get up just as the door opened.

It was Newt.

Minho stared, taken aback by the were successfully opening the door. He didn't move as Newt crept into the room. Careful and tentative, the were climbed up onto the foot of the bed and curled up, doglike, watching Minho warily.

_What the hell,_ Minho thought, rubbing his eyes. He pinched himself to be sure he wasn't dreaming, blinked hard to wake himself up. The scene didn't change.

“You know what?” he said at last. “I'm calling it progress.”

With that, he lay back down and went to sleep. 


	5. I can't control myself.

At least, Minho thought crankily, Jorge had waited until the sun was up this time.

“What?” he asked. His voice came out sharper than he'd meant it to, mostly because Newt had bolted into a corner of the room as soon as the phone rang. “You're scaring Newt.”

“How am I scaring him?” Jorge asked. “I just called.”

“You woke him up,” Minho snapped. “What's worth getting us up at this ungodly hour?”

On instinct, he held out his hand, twitching his fingers like he was calling a dog. To his surprise Newt responded, crawling back across the room and up the bed until Minho could stroke his hair. The were was shivering, and knowing who was on the other end of the phone didn't seem to be helping.

“I need an ETA,” Jorge said.

Minho frowned. “On what?”

“On getting Newt on the stand.”

That was so unexpected he stopped petting Newt for a second. “Serious? I've only had him two weeks, dude.”

Jorge sighed, a raspy sound that made Minho think he’d picked up smoking again. “We need him talking, _hermano_ ,” he said grimly. “We need him on the stand, or Janson’s going to walk.”

Newt flinched at the name, but Minho caught him gently by the back of the neck to keep him from fleeing. The were whined low in his throat, curling up doglike by Minho’s knee.

“Try not to mention the guy’s name, Jorge,” Minho said. “Scares him.”

“We need him,” Jorge said again. “We need him talking, and we need it before we indict. The friend Janson fingered has his prints all over the place and confessed to pulling the trigger, but he says the weres were feral.”

“They weren’t,” Minho said instantly. If he’d had any doubt of that, Newt’s head snapped up and he shook his head sharply. “Newt agrees with me.”

“A nonverbal Alpha isn’t going to be much good on the stand,” Jorge said. “They’ll say he’s feral too.”

“If they try it, you can put _me_ on the stand,” Minho said grimly. “I’ll set them straight.”

“That’s a nice thought, _hermano_ , but we still need him talking.”

An idea occurred to Minho. Probably a dumb idea, but better than nothing.

“We don’t need him talking,” he said slowly. “We just need him communicating.”

“What are you thinking, hermano?” Jorge asked warily.

“I’ll tell you if it works,” he said, and hung up. He turned to the trembling were. “Breakfast?”

~

Weres’ legal rights had progressed much faster than other minorities’, mainly because of fear. There had, of course, been a large number of people calling for concentration camps or extermination, but weres had retaliated quickly and cleverly. Any congressman or senator who supported such measures found themselves or their children quietly bitten by the nearest Alpha. A few congressmen and senators turned out to already be weres.

At the same time they carried out their violent conversions, weres produced heroes. The civilian who dove into a burning building to save the people the firemen couldn’t reach, unafraid of burns or smoke inhalation. The Marine who carried his wounded comrade off the battlefield at a speed no human or tank could have matched, getting him the critical care he needed before it was too late. The good-guy cop who took the gun from his partner before he could shoot a civilian with a toy gun.

As the third side of their approach, the weres systematically turned the bite from a curse to a gift. The stories were everywhere: the Alpha who bit an abandoned child whose mind had been addled by in-utero drug use, healing him and giving him a home, the one who saved a would-be suicide when no one else could, the one who healed his hospice-bound mother.

But although the legal rights had come quickly, weres were still perceived as other, outside the normal way of things. When weres were accepted, it was because they were seen as superhuman, an answer to the comic-book prayers of mankind. When they weren’t, it was for the same reason.

When the were in question was healthy, the separation from humanity didn’t matter as much. But with someone like Newt…

“You need a therapist,” Minho said as delicately as he could.

Newt’s head snapped up and he narrowed his eyes, shaking his head sharply.

Minho sighed. “Yes, you do.” He put his fork down. “I know. You’re a were. You don’t need human doctors. But you’re also human, at least half of you is. I can’t…” He trailed off. “I’m trained to deal with the animal half. I’m not good with the human half. Hell, I’m not good with humans at all.”

Newt shook his head again.

“Look.” Minho held out a hand, offering it to the were to hold or nuzzle. Newt did neither, so Minho pressed on. “I’m not going to send you off to someone else. I’ll go with you. I’ll stay in the room. I’m going to get you in with the guy who got me through my parents’ death. I know it’s not the same as what you’ve been through, but he can help.”

Newt still looked skeptical, and still refused to acknowledge the offered hand. Minho tried a different tactic. “He also knows sign language,” he said. “ASL. So you can ask for what you want without having to talk.”

This time, Newt buried his face in Minho’s hand, accepting the petting Minho gave him.

~

Really, Minho should have scouted the place first.

“Min!” Teresa yelled when she saw him. “Tom, Min’s here!”

Newt reeled back so fast Minho worried he’d run, putting to use his newfound ability to open doors. Minho caught him by the shirt and pulled him back.

“This is Teresa,” he said. “Forgive the overly enthusiastic greeting. She’s Thomas’s sister and runs the business side of things.”

“Tom’s useless with numbers,” Teresa cheerfully agreed. “I do the accounting for him and a few other local businesses.”

Newt still looked like he’d bolt if Minho let go, but he let Minho pull him closer. Minho wrapped an arm around the were, petting him gently.

“I called Thomas,” he told Teresa. “He should know we’re here.”

“Right,” Teresa said, scanning the paper in her hand. Her eyes went wide and she glanced at Newt, then back at the paper. “Yeah, I’ll grab him.”

She vanished into the back office. Newt pressed close to Minho, crouched down so his head pressed into his waist. Minho started petting him automatically. At least the were trusted him.

Thomas emerged from the back a few minutes later. “Minho,” he said, holding out a hand. Minho shook with his left hand, keeping his right in Newt’s hair. “And this must be Newt.”

Proving why Minho hand come to Thomas, the brunette held out his hand palm-up, offering it for Newt to sniff rather than shake. The were didn’t move from beside Minho, but some of the tension bled out of him.

“My name’s Thomas,” the man said, signing as he went. “You’re Newt.” He spelled the name slowly. “Are you okay to come back for a while?”

“Straighten up,” Minho said quietly, tugging Newt’s hair gently. “Walk like a human.”

Newt whined but obeyed, hiding half behind Minho while he followed Thomas down the hall.

“What exactly do you need from me?” Thomas asked as they walked. “I’m not qualified to deal with weres.”

“We’re fine with the wolf half,” Minho said in answer, glancing back at Newt to be sure he was still following. “I need your help with the human half. I’ve never tried to rehabilitate a person before.”

Thomas pushed open the door to the office and ushered them in. Minho sat on the couch where he normally did, but Newt took a seat at his feet before Minho could stop him. Minho sighed but didn’t bother fighting it, just threaded his fingers through Newt’s hair and petted him gently.

Thomas, to his credit, sat down on the floor facing Newt. “Okay,” he said. “So talk to me. What do you need from this?” He held out a gentle hand to Newt, who sniffed it briefly before retreating back to Minho’s side. Thomas set his hand on Newt’s knee, looking relieved when the were didn’t reject it.

“The guy who did this to him,” Minho said. “He’ll walk if Newt can’t get on the stand.” Newt whimpered, and Minho amended, “Might walk. Our chances are a lot better if we can put Newt on the stand--if Newt can go on the stand as Alpha.”

“Alpha might be beyond my skills,” Thomas said, thumb rubbing soft circles on Newt’s knee. “But I can get you communicating.” He directed that last to Newt. “If you want.”

“Do you want that?” Minho asked quietly. “Let you talk to me, tell me when you need something?”

A long pause. Finally the were nodded.

“Okay,” Thomas said. “Then we’ll start there.” He lifted his hand from Newt’s knee. “I’m going to teach you the alphabet, okay? Follow along. You too, Minho.” He formed his hand into a fist, with his thumb along the side. “This is the letter A. Can you copy this for me?”

Slowly, Newt lifted his hand. It seemed to take a few tries for him to get his fingers to cooperate, but after a minute he showed Thomas the same hand shape. He looked up at Minho, like he was looking for reassurance. Minho smiled, petting him and copying.

“Okay,” Thomas said. “So that’s A. This is B…”

~

There was a light in Newt’s eyes that hadn’t been there before. Minho couldn’t help noticing it, on the way out.

It was subtle. So subtle he almost thought he’d imagined it. But there it was--Newt was standing a little straighter, lifting his eyes a little higher, not hiding quite as much inside the coat he’d kept on the whole car ride home. When Minho ushered him in with a gentle hand on his back, the were didn’t even flinch. He stepped aside to let Minho pass and looked around the house for real, taking it all in for what seemed the first time.

For a minute, Minho thought it would be that easy.

Then the phone rang.

At once, the confidence and glow left Newt, and he flinched back into the living room. Minho sighed, holding out a soothing hand as he answered the phone. “Yeah?”

“ _Hermano_ ,” said the familiar voice. “I got good news.”

Minho twitched his fingers, making a soft clicking sound with his tongue. After a minute Newt slunk out from behind the wall, on all fours, nuzzling his palm and whining. Minho crouched to pet him. “It better be damn good,” he warned Jorge. “We were doing great ‘til you called.”

“It’s good,” Jorge said. “Two of the people who were at the fight will testify that it was Janson that invited them.”

Newt flinched, and Minho caught him by the shirt to keep him from running away again. The were let him pull him closer. Minho sighed and settled down cross-legged, tugging Newt into his lap like a large dog, petting him gently. “Dude, do me a favor and don’t use the J-word.”

“Right,” Jorge said. “Point is, we got him. We’re indicting tomorrow on conspiracy charges.”

“Conspiracy?” Minho asked. “Seriously? That’s all you’ve got? That’s your great news?”

“Baby steps, _hermano_ ,” Jorge said. “We’ll get him for the whole thing when your boy’s ready. But this’ll put him away long enough to give you breathing room.”

Newt finally seemed to be calming down, and Minho ruffled his hair and helped him sit up again. “That’s good,” he said at last. “Really good. But try to keep the calls to a minimum, okay? You scare Newt.”

He could almost see Jorge shaking his head. “Never thought I’d see the day when I could scare an Alpha,” he said. “But all right, hermano. I’ll keep you posted.”

“Do it by text,” Minho said just as Jorge hung up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so, for those of you who've read my other works, are there any you want to see sequels for?


	6. So what if you can see the darkest side of me?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it's late on Wednesday but this actually got written. I was sick over the weekend and didn't really think it would, but here you go.

“Dude, there’s no point teaching him sign if you’re not learning to understand it.”

Minho looked up from where he’d been staring at… nothing in particular. now that he thought of it. “What?” he said. “I’m listening.”

Newt looked up at him, frowning. He started to lift his hand like he was going to say something, then dropped it again.

“Sorry,” Minho said, petting Newt. “I’m watching. Really. Go on.”

He kept his eyes on Thomas as the man demonstrated the newest sign, but his mind was elsewhere--the same place it had been all day.

This wasn’t going to end well.

Things were supposed to be getting better. For almost a week, they’d been in to see Thomas every day. Jorge had even found a way to pay for the visits out of the police’s medical fund. Minho wasn’t entirely sure it was something Jorge’s superiors would approve, so he’d been careful not to ask how he’d swung it. He was just glad he didn’t have to pay for the visits out of pocket.

And for now, things were getting better. Newt had taken the news that Janson was going to be charged with relief. He still slept curled up at the foot of Minho’s bed, but he ate like a human and walked like a human and even pulled blankets over himself at night like a human. He was doing so much better. Minho was terrified that when he had to tell Newt, it would ruin that.

No. He wasn’t scared. People weren’t scared of things they knew would happen. They just dreaded them.

Newt’s vocabulary was growing rapidly. He was up to a hundred words after only a week.

He didn’t _use_ them, but he knew them.

If Minho told him, Newt would never use them at all.

~

Newt didn’t need to be told to walk like a human anymore. He huddled close to Minho as they went back into the house, but he stood up straight. Minho wrapped an arm around his shoulders, holding him close.

“You’re okay,” he told him quietly. “You’re doing great.”

He shut the door behind them and Newt wrapped his arms around him, surprising Minho. The were pressed his face to Minho’s shoulder, shaking lightly.

“What’s wrong?” Minho asked, petting his hair, holding him close. “What’s going on?”

Newt whimpered, shaking his head.

Minho sighed. “Let’s go sit down and watch a movie, okay?”

A shallow nod.

Minho led the shaking were into the living room, pulling him down into his lap. “You’re okay,” he whispered as the were curled up. “You’re okay.”

Newt gestured, so quick and aborted a thing that Minho didn’t realize at first it was a sign. “Repeat that?” he asked.

Newt twitched nervously, but made the sign again. _J._

“J?” Minho repeated, frowning. “J--” No. It couldn’t be. Newt couldn’t know. “Janson?” he asked tentatively.

Newt flinched but nodded.

Minho’s heart almost stopped. “Hey. He’s going away, remember? He was charged with conspiracy. He’s going away for years.”

Newt shook his head jerkily and tapped his nose.

Minho growled a curse, sounding more animalistic than Newt, and grabbed his phone and hit speed dial five.

Jorge picked up on the third ring. “What happened to ‘don’t call,’ _hermano_?”

“That was for you, not me.” He kept petting Newt’s hair, holding the were in place with his arm while he did. Newt didn’t seem eager to fight him, stayed huddled in his lap shaking and whimpering. “Janson’s been on my farm. Newt smelled him.”

“Serious?” Jorge lapsed into Spanish, but from the tone Minho could guess he was cursing the air blue. “I’ll kill him. I’ll _kill_ him.”

“He’s trying to scare Newt,” Minho said. “And it’s working.”

“Yeah, I’d bet it would. _Seriously?”_ Jorge kept ranting for long enough that Minho held the phone away from his ear. When he returned it, Jorge was still ranting, so he cut in.

“Cussing him out doesn’t do us any good, dude. I need him gone.”

“Wish I could give you that, _hermano,”_ Jorge said. “You put up Private Property signs and you see him on your land, we can get him on trespassing.”

“What about a restraining order?” Minho asked.

“Maybe,” Jorge said. “You’d have to tell the judge why, though. Be best if Newt could talk…”

“Not there yet,” Minho said. “He might be able to sign or fingerspell a few things, but that’s as far as we’ve gotten.”

“Signing is good,” Jorge said. “Fingerspelling will work. Better a communicative were than one who has to have a human talk for him, you know?”

“Yeah,” Minho muttered, still petting Newt. The shaking had lessened. “How soon can you get that in effect?”

“If you come in and make a statement, we can get it tomorrow,” Jorge said. “It’ll be in effect until the hearing, which we can set for as far out as possible. He violates it, we can have him put back in jail.”

Newt’s head jerked up and Minho winced. Of course the were had heard the b-word.

“I gotta go,” Minho said hurriedly, and hung up. “Newt…”

The were was past listening. He was writhing, trying to get away but unwilling to break Minho’s hold. Minho tossed his phone to the other end of the couch and put his other arm around Newt, pulling the were close.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay,” he whispered. “It’s okay, he’s not here, he’s not coming here, he’s gone, he’s staying gone. We’re going to get a restraining order, he’ll go back to jail if he violates it. Just calm down, Newt, calm down.”

Newt was still whimpering, although he’d stopped trying to get away. Minho started petting him, pressing soft kisses to his head between words. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to upset you, I didn’t want to have to tell you. Janson made bail last night. He’s out but he’s not staying there, he’s not coming close to us, you don’t need to worry, you’re safe, he’s gone.”

He kept whispering until Newt calmed down. Maybe, Minho thought, the were actually believed it. That would make one of them.

~

Minho sincerely hoped that this wasn’t the judge who would decide their case.

Ava Paige was a strict-looking woman with red hair that was turning white with age, matching the white she wore under her robes. She looked at Minho and his flannel shirt with apparent distaste (what did she expect a farm boy to wear?), at Jorge with suspicion, and at Newt with nothing short of fear.

As it turned out, his worries were misplaced. As soon as Jorge laid out the facts, the woman’s expression sharpened.

“You,” she said, addressing Minho. “I’m told the were cannot speak. You speak for him?”

Minho shrugged. “Newt can sign,” he offered. “But if you’re talking verbal speech, yeah, that’s my job.” He put an arm around the were and stroked his shoulder gently.

“Can you attest that this Janson has been on your property?” she asked.

“Newt says--signed, whatever--he smelled him. I trust his nose.”

“So you haven’t seen him?”

The bad feeling was back. “No, Your Honor.”

The judge frowned at the three of them. “All personal feelings aside,” she said, “the law is clear. A man implicated in the harm of a living victim can be prevented from approaching that victim. In this case, where the charges are of conspiracy, the law is somewhat murkier. However. Mr. Janson’s lawyers are free to argue their case at the hearing, set for three weeks from today. The order is in effect. See that Mr. Janson receives it.”

She signed the form, handed it over to Jorge, and turned to the next item in her docket.

“We did it,” Minho whispered to Newt on the way out. “You did it. He can’t come near us now.”

Newt nodded, shaking with what Minho hoped was relief.

~

They were okay. Newt fed himself, bathed himself, put on pajamas himself, curled up at the foot of Minho’s bed under a blanket like he always did, head turned toward Minho, limbs curled in ways a human body shouldn’t be able to. And sometime after he closed his eyes, just like always, he fell asleep. Sometime after that, Minho did too.

For a few blissful hours, he slept, and thought they’d be okay. Thought Newt believed him.

Then he woke up.

His bladder woke him, but before he could move he heard the whimpers, felt the bed shift as Newt sobbed. He sat up, putting nature’s call to the back of his mind, and reached for Newt.

“Come up here,” he said. “Come here, it’s okay.”

Newt didn’t hesitate. He dove across the bed into Minho’s arms, one fist rubbing small circles on his chest as he cried. It took Minho a minute to realize it was a sign-- _sorry, sorry, sorry,_ over and over.

“Don’t be sorry,” Minho whispered, kissing his forehead, his temple, the top of his head. “Don’t be sorry. It’s okay. I’ve got you. I won’t let him hurt you. He’s going away for a long time and you’ll be safe. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

He held him, whispering comforting words he only half-believed, until Newt calmed down.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered again, kissing his head. “I’ve got you. You’re safe.” He hesitated, then asked, “You want to stay here? Sleep with me tonight?”

Newt hesitated, then nodded.

“Okay,” Minho whispered. He kissed his head again. “I gotta take a leak, I’ll be back, okay?”

He got up, tucking Newt into bed before going to the bathroom. When he returned, he found Newt curled into the spot he’d abandoned, soaking in the warmth.

Minho smiled, crawling back into bed. Hesitantly he wrapped an arm around the half-asleep were, who snuggled closer into him.

It hit him then, what he’d been feeling. What he’d been doing. The kisses, the petting. Not just protectiveness, not just affection.

“I’m so fucked,” he whispered, tucking Newt’s head under his chin.

Newt stirred, making a soft questioning whine.

“It’s okay,” Minho assured him. “Go back to sleep.”

The were obeyed.


	7. No one will ever change this animal I have become.

In his dream, his parents were still alive. The farm was still a farm. It still grew crops to feed them and sell at the farmer’s market, his parents still rehabilitated animals who were fully animal, and he was still young enough to think it would last forever.

He laughed giddily, lifting his arms above his head and standing up in the stirrups as the newly-rehabilitated horse trotted in an obedient circle around the paddock.

“Minho Park!” his mother called. “Put your hands on the reins this instant!”

The horse sensed the fear in his mother’s voice. Minho’s parents were always careful with their words and tone--except when they thought Minho was in danger. Now the horse jumped, pranced nervously side to side. Minho almost fell before he got his hands on the reins.

“Shh, shh,” he whispered, petting the horse’s muzzle. “It’s okay, it’s okay.”

Slowly, the horse calmed down.

Suddenly Minho was older, was riding the last horse his parents had ever taken in. He’d taken on the job of rehabilitating it, and mostly it kept him from thinking about how alone he’d suddenly found himself.

The horse was beautiful, a strong black gelding that Minho would have liked to buy off the owner; but he didn’t have nearly enough money. He and his parents had had a falling out over the issue of weres. Minho didn’t think the creatures should be offered rehabilitation, had been so scared for his parents’ lives it had turned into anger. They’d only reconciled two years before they died, after the first such bill made them licensed werewolf rehabilitators, pronounced capable of returning feral weres to human society. And just when Minho was starting to learn, his parents had been hit by a drunk driver and died.

Riding helped. Convincing the horses that they could trust him, that humans weren’t all like the ones who’d hurt them, helped. If he could put the horses back together, if they could carry him--maybe he wasn’t broken.

He woke up with the gears in his mind spinning, Newt huddled close to him and shivering in his sleep.

~

“I have an idea,” Minho said at breakfast.

Newt looked up, then jerked his gaze back down to his barely-touched plate.

“It’s a good idea, I think,” Minho said. “You need to feel relaxed, and I have a way to do that. It’s something I’ve done before--my parents used to offer it as another service.”

Newt frowned, not looking up, not signing anything.

“It’ll help,” Minho said. “At least, I think it will. It should.”

No answer.

“Finish eating,” Minho ordered. “You know it’s safe. You know how to eat. Finish. You’ll need your strength for this.”

Newt hunched his shoulders defensively, staring at the plate.

“We’re not moving until you eat,” Minho warned, and went back to his own breakfast.

Newt seemed to want to call his bluff, but Minho wasn’t bluffing. He’d wait as long as it took. He wasn’t putting a starving were on a horse. It would be hard enough to keep the horses calm when they scented a predator. He was just praying Morning Star was as close to healthy again as he thought she was.

He hadn’t worked with the horses nearly as much as he should have, since Newt had arrived. They were his main source of income, and his main job, but they were also much less damaged than Newt was. Luckily he’d been at least halfway through a normal treatment with all of them when Newt arrived, so they could be left alone sometimes.

Newt still hadn’t started eating again when Minho finished. But he wasn’t going to back down. Newt would eat eventually.

“I’ll feed you if I have to,” Minho warned. “You’ll like what I have planned, but I need you to eat before we do it.”

Newt hunched his shoulders further, whimpering.

“ _Eat,_ ” Minho ordered. “You know how. You know it’s safe. Just do it, and I’ll show you what we’re doing today.”

Newt ducked his head, but Minho saw what he’d missed. The were was crying.

He got to his feet, rounded the table and crouched by the were. “Is he here?” he asked, stroking Newt’s hair behind his ear.

Newt bit his lip and shook his head.

“Then you’re safe.” Minho kissed his forehead. “You’re safe. He won’t come back, not with the restraining order.” And if he did, they’d put him away for a long time. “You can eat.”

Newt shook his head again.

Minho sighed. “Stand up for me,” he said. When the were obeyed, he slid into the chair and pulled Newt down into his lap. “I told you I’d feed you if I had to,” he said. “Will you let me?”

Newt whined.

Minho pressed a kiss to the back of his head. “I’ll go slow,” he promised. “All you have to do is chew and swallow. It’s safe, you know it is. Let me feed you?”

A pause. Then, jerkily, Newt nodded.

“Thank you,” Minho said, and picked up the fork.

He kept his promise, fed Newt small bites. The were took them carefully, chewed and swallowed each bite. He was shivering from the barely-contained panic, but he was eating.

“You’re doing great,” Minho whispered, feeding him another bite. “Just a few more and we’ll go outside.”

Newt made a questioning noise, taking the bite.

Minho kissed the top of his head. It was so easy to forget how powerful Newt was, when he was like this. More like a puppy than an Alpha were. “What we’re doing is out there,” he said. “Last one.”

Newt took the bite and curled up small in Minho’s lap, pressing his hands to his mouth protectively. Minho petted his head, kissing his temple. “You’re okay,” he whispered. “You did great. It’s safe, you’re safe. We’ll let you rest a little bit and then we’ll go outside.”

Newt was shivering, but as Minho petted and kissed him he slowly calmed down.

“Ready?” Minho asked after a few minutes had passed and the shaking had subsided.

Newt nodded.

“Stand up, then.”

Newt got to his feet, immediately hunching to be lower than Minho.

Minho followed him to his feet, wrapping an arm around him. “Come on,” he said. “I want you to meet Morning Star.”

Newt frowned, confused, but let Minho lead him outside.

The were dug in his heels when he saw that they were headed toward the stable. He writhed in Minho’s arms, struggled to get away. It took Minho a minute to figure out what was wrong, but then he grabbed Newt’s shoulders.

“It’s okay,” he said. “You’re allowed. I’m letting you.”

Newt stopped fighting, looking between Minho and the stables with panic in his eyes.

Minho sighed. Of course the were remembered that that was the only place on the farm he wasn’t allowed. But at least he was calming down now. “You’re allowed,” he said again. “Only when I’m with you, only when I bring you here. But you’re allowed for now.”

Warily, Newt let Minho lead him up to the stables. Minho left him at the door.

“These horses are skittish,” he said. “I’ll bring Morning Star out to you. Stay here.”

He went inside and down the row of empty stalls to the last one on the left, where Morning Star was munching on oats.

“Hey, kiddo,” Minho said, opening the door and holding out a hand to the gelding. “Come on, let’s go for a ride.”

At the word _ride_ the horse’s ears pricked forward and he paced forward nervously. Minho smiled, petting his muzzle.

“I’m gonna do something different today,” he said softly. “We’re gonna help a friend of mine. He’s just as scared as you are. Just work with me. Come on.”

He kept up the soft soothing words as he brought the horse out, got him saddled and with a lead rein on him. Then he led him out to Newt.

Morning Star started getting nervous as soon as he smelled Newt. Minho kept petting him, kept leading him slowly out.

“It’s okay,” he said. “Newt’s just a person, like me. He won’t hurt you. Believe me, he’s more scared of you throwing him than you are of him biting you.”

With a lot of coaxing, he got the horse out of the stable and up to Newt. The were’s eyes were wide and he looked between horse and human with terrified eyes.

“You’re okay,” Minho said. He reached out to stroke Newt’s hair back from his face, then started heading for the paddock. “Come on,” he told the were. “This is the plan.”

Getting a skittish horse and terrified rider into the paddock was an exercise in patience and gentleness Minho hadn’t even known he had, but he managed it. Finally both Morning Star and Newt were inside the paddock, and Morning Star was waiting patiently while Minho worked with Newt.

“Come on,” he said, putting a gentle hand on the were’s back. “Come on, you can do this.”

Newt looked frankly terrified of getting on a horse, even one who seemed to have decided he wasn’t a threat and was standing perfectly still. Minho wished the were would talk or even sign to him, so he could figure out what about this scared him and help him through it. All he could do was try to coax him up there.

“Come on,” he said again. “He won’t throw you. He’s a good one, almost ready to go back to his new owner. He’ll be patient. You won’t have to direct him, just hold on while I lead him around the paddock. You’ll be fine. Okay? Just put your foot in the stirrup and get into the saddle. You’ll feel better, I promise.”

The promise was a reckless one, but it finally got Newt into the saddle, sitting astride the horse and looking down at Minho, eyes still wide.

Minho smiled, patting his leg. “Good,” he said softly. “You’re doing good. Just hold on to the reins. Don’t pull, just hold.”

Newt took the reins in his hands and Minho took Morning Star’s lead rein. He whistled softly, and Morning Star started walking forward, slow and gentle, following the bare tugs on the lead rein as Minho led him around the pasture.

For a minute, he thought it wouldn’t work. Newt was still so tense even astride Morning Star that Minho thought he’d fall off. But he’d never seen a ride on a good horse fail to make someone relax, so he kept it up, petting Morning Star’s muzzle as he led the horse in a gentle circle around the paddock. The gelding kept walking, placid and calm.

And slowly, Newt relaxed.

At first Minho missed it. Then he glanced back and realized Newt’s hands were no longer white-knuckled on the reins. A few more minutes and the were’s eyes actually closed, trusting Minho and the horse to take him where he needed to be.

“All right up there?” Minho asked.

He couldn’t be sure--the rising sun was right behind Newt’s head--but he thought he saw the were smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wouldn't it be nice if we could just leave it there and leave them happy like that?
> 
> Unfortunately, there's four chapters left, and regular readers of my work know what that means.


	8. Help me believe it's not the real me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter you've all been waiting for. No, not that one. The other one. Yes, that one. Oh, just read it, you'll see.
> 
> Also, this chapter includes some sign language. I've tried to actually represent the grammar and structure of ASL in my transcription, instead of just translating it to English. This is because the grammar and structure of ASL is beautiful. Newt's grammar isn't perfect, but I'm still transcribing it as accurately as possible.
> 
> Also, yes, Minho makes fried rice. Yes, it's Chinese and he's Korean. I make fried rice and I'm as far from Chinese as it gets, so I figure Minho can too. Fried rice is a magnificent way to use leftover protein.

“So, how’s our patient?”

Minho glanced at the door to the bedroom, where Newt was sleeping soundly. “Better,” he said cautiously.

“Define better,” Jorge said. He sounded like he was only halfway paying attention to the conversation.

“He’s not talking,” Minho said instantly. “But he’s signing.” Sometimes.

“Signing?” Jorge asked.

“Sign language,” Minho said. “That’s what Thomas has been teaching him--teaching us, so I can understand him. He signs great. For me.”

“There’s a hell of a ‘but’ in those last two words, _hermano._ ”

Minho sighed, leaning back against the kitchen counter. “ _Only_ for me. He won’t even sign for Thomas when he’s teaching us. He internalizes it at therapy, then comes home and uses it.” He realized too late he’d referred to his farm as _home_. It wasn’t Newt’s home. It was a safe place for him to recover and when he was ready he’d leave and find a pack because that was what weres _did_.

Jorge, to his credit, didn’t mention Minho’s slip of the tongue. “Well, we’re pretty solid on getting him for conspiracy. We’ve got enough witnesses and none of them have been promised anything. That’ll only put him away for a few years, but it’ll give you time to get Newt on his feet.”

Minho frowned. “Then why are you calling?”

Jorge sighed. “Captain’s getting antsy,” he said. “About all the money we’re putting into getting Newt healed up. Says it looks bad, even if Newt’s technically a ward of the state. Looks worse if we can’t show he’s getting better.”

“I didn’t ask for your help,” Minho snapped. “Taking care of him is my job, not yours.”

“Hey, calm down, _hermano_ ,” Jorge said. “We’re planning to keep going as long as we can. I’m just relaying the captain’s words, didn’t say I agreed with them.”

“Yeah, well the captain can…” Minho trailed off as he made a turn in his pacing. “I gotta go,” he said abruptly.

“What happened?” Jorge asked. He sounded alarmed. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Minho said. “Our patient woke up, that’s all.”

He hung up without another word and held out a hand to Newt. “Hey,” he said with a smile. “It’s all good news. Come here.”

Newt padded over silently. He still hunched to be lower than Minho, but his shoulders were a little further back lately, hands moving like a person’s instead of like front paws that had accidentally lifted off the ground. Still, Minho petted him and scratched behind his ear like a dog, and a soft happy look came over Newt’s face when he did.

“Ready for lunch?” Minho asked. “If you eat it all, we’ll go ride Morning Star after.”

Newt nodded, actually made an understandable gesture, and went to the dining room and sat down at the table. Minho smiled, petted his hair again, and went back into the kitchen to get lunch ready.

Newt had been eating more. Almost as much as Minho expected someone his size to eat. It was the first time in his life that Minho had really cooked for more than one person, and he was starting to enjoy it. It was dangerous, he knew that. Newt didn’t belong with him. Eventually he’d get better and go join another pack.

_Join one, or form one?_ Minho wondered. Newt was an Alpha, powerful enough to survive a bullet to the brain. From what Minho knew, finding a pack that would take in such a powerful lone wolf would be hard as hell.

For a fleeting second he thought the impossible--that Newt might choose to stay with him. The thought was so enticing he had to stop cooking while he reminded himself it would never happen. Newt didn’t belong with him, or to him, or in the same world as him.

He finished the meal--fried rice made from the leftover pork they’d had yesterday--and brought out two plates, one for himself and one for Newt. The were had pulled his legs up to sit cross-legged on the chair, waiting for Minho’s return, perfectly still except for the minute twitching of his ears as he listened.

“Here,” Minho said, putting a plate down in front of him. “Eat.”

He sat down across the table from him, watching until Newt picked up the fork and scooped up a bite of fried rice. Then and only then Minho settled in to eat too.

Newt cleared his plate for the first time since he’d been with Minho, and Minho couldn’t help the pride he felt at that. “Come on,” he said, getting up and ruffling Newt’s hair. “Let’s ride.”

~

Two hours later Newt had brushed and fed Morning Star (the were seemed to like this part even more than he did riding) and they’d just crossed back inside the house when the were tapped Minho on the shoulder.

Minho looked back and found Newt signing. _You-name-say._

Minho blinked. “Minho,” he said. “You know my name.”

Newt bit his lip, shook his head. _You-last-name-what?_

Another blink. Had he never told Newt that? Then again, why would he have? “Park,” he said. “My name is Minho Park.”

Newt nodded slowly. Then he signed, so fast Minho almost missed it, _My-name-Z-A-C-H-A-R-Y-N-E-W-T-O-N._ Then he shook his head and signed, _N-E-W-T._

“Zachary?” Minho repeated. “Is that--” He stopped. “You want me to keep calling you Newt,” he said. Not a question, just a clarification.

Newt nodded.

Minho hesitated, then asked, “Did you pick that name, or Janson?”

Newt shook his head sharply, but to his credit he didn’t bolt at the name. He pointed to himself emphatically and started more rapid-fire sign. _I-past-leave-father-’s-P-A-C-K. I-past-change-name-N-E-W-T._

“Okay,” Minho said. “Do you mind if I tell Jorge your name? It might help the investigation.”

Newt swallowed hard, but signed _O-K._

“Okay.” Minho ran his hand over Newt’s hair, smoothed one of the blond locks behind Newt’s ear. “I’ll tell him. Come on, let’s watch some TV.”

Minho got Newt situated on the couch with a blanket wrapped around him and went to call Jorge.

The detective picked up on the second ring. “ _Hermano_. Tell me you’ve got good news.”

“Zachary Newton,” Minho said.

“What?”

“Zachary Newton,” Minho repeated. “That was Newt’s name. He changed it when he left his dad’s pack. Figured you could use that to track him down, maybe find out how long Janson had him. Maybe even how he got him.”

Jorge whistled. “That _is_ good news, _hermano_. Best news I’ve had in a week. You got him talking?”

“No,” Minho admitted. “He signed it. But it’s good news, isn’t it?”

“Oh yeah,” Jorge said. “I could use a little more news that good right about now.”

A chill ran down Minho’s spine. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Jorge sighed. “One of our witnesses recanted,” he admitted quietly. “Now claims he only fingered Janson under duress.”

Minho swore, loudly, fluently, in English and Korean, until he ran out of words. “What about the others?” he asked. “Tell me you’ve still got him.”

“I’d like to, _hermano_ , I would.” Jorge sighed. “It’s not a sure thing anymore, is all I can say. We could really use your boy right about now.”

Minho sighed. “I’ve given you all I can. The name should help.”

“It should,” Jorge agreed. “I’ll call you when I’ve got something. Maybe you can get your boy to answer a few more questions about who he was. That’d put us a long way ahead of where we are now.”

“We’ll see,” Minho said, and hung up.

Newt was sitting still on the couch when Minho returned, but slid to sit at Minho’s feet when he sat down. Minho quirked a brow at him. “Really?” he asked.

Newt shrugged, leaning back against his legs.

Minho was just picking up the remote when he heard it.

“Minho.”

The voice was raspy and so quiet Minho thought he’d imagined it. But it was definitely there. And then again, a little louder, a little less like a whisper.

“Minho.”

The voice was unfamiliar, and the way it pronounced Minho’s name was careful, like it was trying to get it right.

Finally, scared to be right, scared to be wrong, Minho looked down at the were at his feet. “Is that you?”

Newt looked up at him. His eyes were a little wide and his mouth a little open, but he nodded. “Did--I say it right?” he asked.

Newt was British.

It was such a stupid thing for Minho to think. Of all the miraculous things happening in this moment, the thing that stood out was the were’s _accent?_

Minho let out a breath, petting Newt’s hair. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, you said it right. Minho.”

“Minho Park,” Newt said. Definitely British. The were turned to look at the TV again.

Minho didn’t want to push, didn’t want to say anything in case it turned out to push Newt back into his shell, but he couldn’t believe it. Newt was _talking_. He almost held his breath, waiting for him to say more, but nothing came. Reluctantly, he picked up the remote again.

“If,” Newt said, and Minho dropped it again.

Newt was quiet another minute, but Minho refused to turn on anything that might discourage the were from speaking, so he waited, petting Newt’s hair gently. Finally his patience was rewarded.

“If I told you what happened--could you tell them?”

Minho frowned, tracing the sentence. “You mean--could I tell Jorge? Or could I testify for you?”

“Testify,” Newt said quietly.

He considered, but shook his head. “Probably not. The defense would invoke their right to face the accuser and have it thrown out. Or they’d just bring a character witness to assassinate my credibility. I… I had a rough few years a while ago. I wouldn’t be a good witness. And I couldn’t testify for your whole pack--only you can do that.”

Newt didn’t say anything. Hurriedly Minho added, “But I could tell Jorge whatever you told me--and he could investigate and dig up more proof. You might not have to take the stand at all.”

The doorbell rang, and Newt jumped.

“I have to get that,” Minho said, and stood up. He crouched in front of Newt and kissed his forehead and petted his head. “You’re doing so good. _So good._ I’ll be back in a minute and we’ll keep talking, all right?”

Newt nodded, looking at the ground, and Minho headed to the front door.

It was the neighbor, with his Great Dane on a leash and looking scowly.

“I have to go out of town,” the man said. “Mother took a fall, I’m going down to make sure she’s okay. Can’t take Rocky on the plane. Can you watch him for a day?”

Minho nodded, holding out a hand.

“Kennel and feed are in the house,” the man said, handing over the leash. “There’s a key under the mat. I’d stay and chat, but, well.”

“No, I get it,” Minho said. “Go take care of your mom.”

The man nodded, turned away, and started down the driveway. Halfway there he made an odd whistle.

The dog lunged.

Minho barely got his arm between them so that the dog’s jaws fastened on his forearm instead of his neck. Rocky shook his head back and forth, claws digging into Minho’s skin. Minho shook him off, got him to the ground--but the dog’s next lunge bowled him over. His head hit the ground hard, and jaws clamped on his face and dug in.

And then, quite suddenly, the dog was gone.

Minho sat up as well as he could, putting a hand to his head. Newt was there, holding the dog by the neck before hurling it into the front yard. The Dane turned to resume the attack, and Newt _howled._

Minho had never heard a sound of such primal terror. Weres called it a howl, but it was more like a roar, a bone-deep sound that made his insides turn to jell-o.

The dog was smart. It put its head down and its tail between its legs, turned, and ran back home.

Newt turned and crouched by Minho, running his hands over him. He lifted Minho’s arm to his mouth--

“No.”

Minho yanked his hand away, and Newt jerked back like he’d been hit. Minho grabbed his neck with his good hand.

“I’m okay,” he promised. “I’ll be fine. I don’t need the bite. Just need you to call 911.”

Newt’s eyes went wide and he shook his head furiously.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Minho promised. “Just dial and hit send. They’ll bring everyone, including an ambulance. That’s all I need you to do, just dial and hit send.” His vision was starting to turn fuzzy, the head trauma setting in. “For me,” he said. “Please.”

And then his vision went dark and he fell, hitting his head on the ground one more time.


	9. Somebody help me tame this animal.

Footsteps. Coming closer. Heavy shoes, not the squeaky orthopedic monsters the nurses wore. He tensed, hands curling into claws, but the footsteps passed by without stopping in, and he relaxed.

By his count--and he was good at guessing time, most of his kind were--there was still half an hour or so before the next doctor would check on Minho for the next time. They’d been coming in once an hour since his human got out of surgery.

His. Minho was his.

He could still see it, every time he closed his eyes. Could hear the sharp whistle, could smell the blood as the dog lunged. He hadn’t been fast enough, had been too afraid to go near the door. If he’d been the Alpha he should have been, Minho would never have gotten hurt.

At least his human had avoided surgery. The worst damage had been the bites. A whole team had cleaned them and sewed them and pumped his human full of antibiotics to counter whatever had gotten in. Everyone had avoided eye contact with Newt, and until he showed them his teeth, clean of blood, none of them had seemed comfortable having him so close to Minho. Which of course had been more or less the point.

Still, Minho was his, and no one was willing to risk pissing off an Alpha. Flashing his eyes red had let him stay close to his human, except for the brief but agonizing periods when Minho was getting brain scans to be sure there wasn’t serious damage. More medications had been added to the IV to try to get the swelling to go down, but the doctors seemed to trust he’d wake up. At least, they hadn’t given Newt any reason to think he wouldn’t.

More footsteps. He tensed again. This time, he knew before the footsteps stopped that they were headed for Minho’s room. There was a pause, and then a familiar voice asked, “Can I come in?”

He whipped his head around, glaring. He knew that voice, and although he’d only seen it once he recognized the face when he saw it too. Detective Jorge Alvarez.

He stared at the detective for a long moment, evaluating him, sniffing the air to see if he had his gun on him. He didn’t, and he waited patiently for an answer. Respecting his territory. His pack.

He nodded.

Jorge ducked his head as he entered, silently acknowledging he wasn’t the leader here. He took the seat across the bed.

“Doctors say he should wake up soon,” he said. “I was hoping you and I could talk.”

He considered, looking back at Minho, then shook his head silently.

“Newt,” Jorge pressed. “I need to know what happened.”

Newt lifted his head again and bared his teeth to show the detective they were clean.

“I know you didn’t hurt Minho,” Jorge said. “I knew that as soon as the call came in. Paramedics babbling about a feral were at the Park ranch--I knew it was you, and I knew you didn’t do it. You wouldn’t hurt Minho. I need to know who did.”

Newt looked back at his human, not responding.

“Was it Janson?” Jorge asked.

Newt shook his head.

“Hey.”

His head whipped around to glare at the woman in the doorway. He knew her, too, even though he hadn’t been near her during the raid. Brenda Despain, Jorge’s partner. She glanced at him uneasily before turning back to Jorge. “CSU confirms they were dog bites, not wolf.”

“We knew that,” Jorge said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“ _You_ knew that,” Brenda said. “Captain didn’t believe you until now.”

“That’s his problem.” Jorge kept his eyes fixed on Minho. “Proof’s there now. All we need is to find the dog and figure out if it was rabid or if someone ordered it.”

Newt blinked. _Find the dog?_ They didn’t know? “It was the neighbor,” he said aloud.

He hadn’t realized he could still speak until he did it. From the look on the detectives’ face, neither of them had realized either.

Jorge sat forward. “Neighbor? You mean Winston, with the livestock farm beside Minho’s?”

Newt nodded.

“Jesus.” Jorge dragged a hand over his face. “He ordered the dog to do it?”

Newt shook his head and whistled sharply.

“Trained the dog to attack,” Brenda guessed. “Soon as it heard the whistle it attacked whoever was nearby.”

Newt nodded.

Brenda sighed. “Captain’ll want to talk to him,” she told Jorge.

Jorge looked at Newt. “Would you mind coming down to the station with us?” he asked. “We need to go over exactly what happened.”

Newt looked back at Minho.

“We’ll post a guard,” Jorge promised. “No one’ll hurt him, and if there’s any change the doctors will call us. Like as not he’ll be awake when we get back.”

That made it worse, somehow, to leave Minho’s side now. He wanted to be there when his human woke up. But a thought stopped him. Human justice was messier and slower than were justice. These humans wouldn’t be able to prosecute Winston without Newt’s cooperation, and Newt no longer had a pack to handle justice more neatly.

Reluctantly, he nodded.

~

The precinct was full of people, but each and every one of them went quiet as they noticed who Jorge had brought. The detective, for his part, didn’t acknowledge them or even hesitate in the doorway, just brought Newt to the door to the captain’s office.

Newt hadn’t met this man before, and immediately took his measure. Younger than he’d expected, with reddish-brown hair and glasses. He stood when they entered and motioned for Jorge to close the door behind them. Newt refused to jump at the sudden claustrophobia.

“Newt,” the captain said without missing a beat. He held out a hand. “Captain Nicholas Ellison. Call me Nick.” He seemed to fumble as he realized what he’d said, then added, “If you feel up to talking, that is.”

When Minho held out a hand, it was to pet Newt. He had to swallow the lump that grew in his throat, remembering the angry stitches over the arm that had wrapped around him so many times. But he wouldn’t let the captain see that. He shook his hand, sitting down when Nick did.

“He was talking before,” Brenda said, glancing at Nick. “Just a little. He said the neighbor ordered the attack--trained his dog to attack when he gave a specific whistle.”

Nick sighed. “Look into the guy,” he told her. “Find out if this is something he might have done before, or if he could have borrowed the dog from Janson.”

“It was his dog,” Newt said. “Minho recognized it.”

Nick looked at him, more surprised than Brenda and Jorge had been. “He recognized the dog?”

Newt nodded. “The neighbor came over and asked Minho to look after the dog. Said his mum had taken a fall and he was going to see her. Minho took the dog, the man left, then he whistled and the dog attacked.”

Jorge let out a whistle of his own. “How long would it take a guy to train a dog to do that?” he asked.

“Depends on the guy and the dog,” Brenda said. “My old man trained guard dogs. If you’ve got one trained so it barks and scares off invaders, attacks them if it needs to--I don’t suppose it would be too hard to train it to attack first.”

“Why, though?” Nick asked. “Find out if there’s a connection between this guy and Janson.”

“You won’t find one,” Newt said.

Nick glanced at him. “How do you know?”

Newt straightened in his chair, hackles going up at the tone in the man’s voice, the implication that Newt was lying or wrong. “Janson had me and my pack for three years,” he said as calmly as he could. “I know exactly how he works.”

Jorge was the one to break the tension. “Tell us how,” he said. “We’ve been trying to figure that out for months now.”

Newt glanced at him, then fixed his eyes on Nick. Nick was the leader here. If the captain believed him, it didn’t matter what Jorge thought--and if the captain didn’t believe him, it didn’t matter then either.

“Janson’s careful,” he said. “He does everything through intermediaries, and he doesn’t give those intermediaries direct orders if he can avoid it. Just suggestions. They understand full well what he wants, but it’s bloody hard to prove.”

Nick nodded slowly. “So what… suggestion… did he give Winston?”

Newt shook his head. “Not Winston, not directly. What he did--what he’ll have done--is suggest to one of his accomplices, one of his lackeys from the ring, that if I were declared feral all their problems would go away. That lackey, in turn, will have found Winston. Winston complained to Minho that I was scaring his animals. So that person will have convinced Winston that if I were declared feral all _his_ problems would go away, and Winston, not knowing much about how feral weres are dealt with, believed him and so tried to frame me for Minho’s murder.”

It was more words than he’d strung together in over a year, and by the end of it his throat was raw and his voice had gotten raspy again.

“Fucking brilliant, actually,” Jorge said. “If Minho were dead we wouldn’t be able to rehabilitate. Would’ve had to put you down.”

“And it would’ve been hard to convince a jury that Newt _didn’t_ do it,” Nick added, “because he lived with Minho and Winston would’ve cleaned up his dog before we found Minho.”

“DNA evidence would’ve won out,” Brenda said. “Besides, the bites were from a dog, not a wolf.” She looked sharply at Newt. “No offense--it sounds good and all--but how can you possibly be sure about all that?”

Newt glared at her. “I’m sure,” he whispered, trying to preserve what was left of his voice. “I’m not the first ‘problem’ Janson’s decided to deal with.” He looked at Jorge. “Can I go back to Minho now?”

~

Minho was definitely awake. Newt could hear him yelling as soon as the elevator doors opened on his floor.

“--swear to God if you hurt him--”

Newt didn’t wait to hear the rest. His human was safe. Minho was safe. He was awake, and yelling himself hoarse. The stitches covered half his jaw, he could tear them. Newt sprinted down the hallway, rounded the corner into the room, and dove into the bed beside Minho, curling his arms around him and squeezing as tightly as a fragile human body could take.

“Newt,” Minho said once he’d recovered from being dive-bombed. He wrapped his arms around Newt gently. “Where were you? I thought they’d locked you up or--” He didn’t finish.

Newt nuzzled his neck, licking him like a dog. Minho’s hand started petting his hair almost automatically and Newt sighed, content to stay like this. He’d tell Minho what had happened, but his throat still hurt, so he settled for nuzzling and licking to assure him he was all right. The doctor and nurse who’d backed up when he ran into the room approached again, making sure Newt hadn’t ripped out Minho’s IV or anything else.

“Your boy figured it all out,” Jorge said from the doorway. “Even came down to the station to explain it all.”

Minho looked at him, something like pride in his eyes mingled with the surprise. “You told them? Out loud?”

Newt nodded, nuzzling him again, sighing happily. His human was safe. He could stay with him. They could go home soon, back to the farm, safe in the knowledge that Winston would be arrested within the hour.

Minho’s arms tightened around him. “I’m so proud of you,” he whispered, kissing the top of his head. “You did great.”

“Think he needs to rest his throat up,” Jorge said. “Practice, work his way up until he can talk normally. If he can talk, we can get Janson for everything.”

_ Everything. _

Newt swallowed. He could talk. He could talk _in front_ of people. He knew what that meant.

They were going to put him on the stand.

They were going to put Janson away for killing his pack--and it was all up to him to do it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters left~


	10. This animal I have become.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this one almost didn't go up. I was about to take a week off due to finals and then I got all my final stuff done at 7:30. So this got written in about two hours. Go me. Or something.
> 
> Also guys, this chapter has pretty graphic descriptions of torture. So. You might not want to read it if that's not your thing.
> 
> Finally, full disclosure: Everything I know about how trials work I learned from Law and Order.

Minho testified on the third day of the trial.

It went about as well as he’d expected. Janson’s lawyer unsubtly accused him of not knowing what he was doing, then conversely of training Newt like a dog to say whatever Minho wanted him to say. The only saving grace was the DA, who successfully redirected the testimony to focus on what Minho did know from his parents.

At Ava Paige’s suggestion--turned out she _was_ the judge for their case--Newt had stayed in her chambers. He wasn’t allowed to be in the courtroom before his own testimony, and Minho had been reluctant to leave him home alone, and Judge Paige had refused to leave him in a witness prep room where other people might be scared of him. The chambers had let him be alone but still in a safe place where there were plenty of guards between him and Janson, but Minho had still been worrying the entire time he was on the stand. The second Paige dismissed him he fled to the chambers to find his were.

Newt was pacing, restless, hunched and moving his hands like paws. It was like the past few months had never happened, like he was still the half feral Alpha Minho had taken in.

“Hey,” Minho said quietly. “I'm done. You ready to go home?”

Newt spun, eyes wide, and crossed the room in two steps to pull Minho into a crushing hug, burying his face in his neck.

“Hey, buddy,” Minho said, carding a hand through Newt's hair. “I take it you missed me?”

Newt nodded. “Scared,” he whispered.

“For me, or of Janson?”

“Both.”

Minho kissed the top of his head. “Well, I'm fine and he's back in the courtroom and not coming here. Let's go home, okay?”

Newt nodded but didn't step away from Minho. Finally Minho had to step back, wrapping an arm around Newt's waist so the were wouldn't feel lost. “Come on,” he said gently. “Home.”

~

Newt was getting worse.

It had started with those hands moving like he thought he was on all fours. Then that night he’d refused to crawl into Minho’s arms or put on a blanket, had slept curled up like a dog. The next day Minho had had to feed him… By now he wouldn’t even talk anymore, except when they ADA came over to prep him. That was the one glimmer of hope in his steady regression: He was still determined to get Janson.

Minho did what he could. He fed Newt, petted him, praised him when he signed or spoke. He straightened Newt’s shoulders when he was sitting, put blankets over him when he lay down. But it felt hopeless. His only shot was to make sure the testimony went well and that Janson went away for good.

Finally, it was Newt’s turn to take the stand.

“Remember,” Minho said, running his hands down Newt’s arms nervously. “I’ll be there.” He’d be allowed in since he’d already given his testimony. “In the front row on the people’s side. If you need to stop you can tell the judge--she said she’ll break for recess if it’s too much.”

Judge Paige had turned out to be nicer than Minho had thought, or more reasonable at any rate. She’d said that since Newt’s symptoms mirrored PTSD she had no problem accommodating them as a disability. He’d caught a feral glint in her eye that suggested she was more invested in this case than she let on.

“We gotta go,” ADA Clinton said. “We’re due inside.”

“Try not to use that out, buddy,” Jorge said. “Her Honor will try to stop them, but the defense will try to spin it like Minho told you what to say. Use it if you need it but use it sparingly.”

Newt nodded. His back was straight, jaw set. He’d been coaxed into wearing a suit with a tie and he was every inch the Alpha. “Let’s go.”

~

“Please state your name, for the record.”

Minho’s eyes were fixed on Newt, but the were seemed to be doing well. His shoulders were back and he was looking the ADA in the eye as he said, “Zachary Elijah Newton. Former Beta of the Newton pack in Manchester, England, Alpha of the late Glade pack in Pound Ridge, New York.”

“You’re a long way from Pound Ridge.”

“Yes,” Newt said flatly.

“Can you tell us how you came to be here?”

“My pack was captured and sold.”

“Captured,” ADA Clinton repeated. “Can you tell us how that happened?”

Newt nodded shortly. “There’s a breed of humans who will kill or capture my kind for money. One of them got word that there was a bounty out for a large pack--at least eight werewolves--to be sold to a man trying to start a fighting ring. He specifically wanted the Alpha alive.”

“When you say ‘a man’...” Clinton began.

“It was done through intermediaries, but I mean him,” Newt said, pointing to Janson without looking at him.

Clinton nodded. “Let the record show that the defendant has indicated the defendant, Mr. Janson. How did these bounty hunters capture your pack?”

“Drugs,” Newt said. “Silver-based tranquilizers. They dosed my pack while we were out at a bar celebrating another full moon. We passed out there, woke up in cages on his farm.” Again he pointed to Janson. Again Clinton said as much for the court stenographer.

“What happened then?” Clinton asked.

“His people ‘trained’ us to fight,” Newt said.

Minho’s hands were clenched on the arms of the chair, but there was no emotion in Newt’s voice. He’d locked up the pain somewhere far away where it couldn’t touch him.

Newt went on, “They’d put shock collars around our necks. Lethal dosage for a human. Whenever we acted out they hit the remote and shocked us.”

“And so they compelled you to fight each other,” Clinton said.

Newt nodded.

“Did they use any other means to compel you?”

Newt hesitated, then said, “They broke me.”

Clinton’s voice was gentle now. “Explain that.”

“Control the Alpha and you control the pack,” Newt said distantly. “Don’t, and the pack will fight you at every turn. Everything I ate was poisoned. They would--shock me to keep me still, then cut halfway through my limbs with chain saws. Watch me heal and do it all over again. Shoot me in the stomach. They once vivisected me, pulled out a few organs and dropped me back in the cage to regrow them. Drowning--but one time they almost went too far, so they didn’t do that again.”

Dead silence, except for the tapping of the stenographer’s keys.

“And it worked,” Clinton said.

Newt nodded sharply. “I stopped talking. Stopped fighting. Did whatever they said. And my pack followed.”

“Did they treat your pack like they did you?”

Newt shook his head. “For the rest they kept to the shock collars. They didn’t want to risk pushing past the limits of my pack’s healing. One--” His voice shook for the first time but he pushed on “--one of my wolves was young, very young. Newly turned when they took us. They were careful with him.”

“And when you were ‘trained,’ what did they do?”

Newt lifted his chin, expression clearing again. “They put us in the ring to fight. Six fights a night, the last one between three wolves. They sold tickets and took bets. It had something of a following--there were people who came to every fight, won or lost a fortune on us.”

“One more question. What happened when the police came?”

Newt’s eyes grew frosty. “Janson ordered them to kill us all.”

“No further questions,” Clinton said, and sat back down.

Janson’s lawyer, Jones something or other, got to his feet. “Mr. Newton,” he said.

“Newt,” the were said tersely. “I changed my name when I left my father’s pack.”

“Newt, then,” Mr. Jones said calmly. “Was my client there when you were kidnapped?”

“No,” Newt said.

“Was he there when you woke up?”

“No.”

“Was he present for any of the fights?”

“No.” Newt’s voice was getting quieter.

“For any of the tortures you’ve described?”

“No.”

“Then how,” Mr. Jones asked, turning to face the jury, “can you _possibly_ know he was behind your abduction? How can you possibly have any proof of that?”

“The food they delivered was addressed to him,” Newt said. It sounded like he was gritting his teeth. “The guards and handlers talked about him--they thought they were out of earshot but they weren’t nearly far enough for me not to hear. ‘Janson says to light him up’--and then they burned me alive. Anyone argued with something, ‘Janson said’ to do it.”

“And how do you know which Janson it was?” Jones asked.

“Because he came to the farm once,” Newt said.

Jones frowned. “He did.” Not a question.

Newt nodded shortly. “He came and saw my beta.”

Jones smiled. “And you were there, I suppose.”

Newt bared his teeth before he caught himself and swallowed. “I am Alpha,” he said. “I see through my pack’s eyes and hear through their ears. I know what he told Gally and I am legally allowed to testify as to what that was.”

“Legally allowed,” Jones said. “Just like you’re legally allowed to call a stop to this to ask your owner what you’re supposed to say.”

Newt went rigid. “What?”

Jones turned to him, smiling now. “Your owner Mr. Park obtained permission for you to call a stop if you’re scared, but let’s be honest here. It’s so he can tell you what to say, isn’t it?”

Newt shook his head jerkily. “He’s not my owner,” he said. “I don’t have an owner.”

“Of course you do.” Jones took three steps forward, until he loomed over the sitting were. “You’ve been living with Minho Park for months. He bought you the clothes you’re wearing, didn’t he?”

Newt glanced to the side where Janson was sitting, then toward the jury. Not meeting Jones’s eyes. “Yes.”

“He taught you to talk again, didn’t he?”

“He didn’t teach me,” Newt said. His voice was so quiet Minho could barely hear it anymore.

“You weren’t talking when he took you in and you are now. Isn’t that because of him?”

Newt nodded.

Jones’s voice was rising. “Then isn’t it true that you’re accusing my client because Mr. Park told you to?”

Something snapped. Minho realized it and was on his feet just as Newt pulled his lips back and gave that soul-shivering _howl._

Two jurors screamed. One of them ducked down behind the partition. Even Jones took two steps back, face pale. Minho jumped the divider between the gallery and the court and ran up to Newt.

“Newt!” he yelled over the roar. “Newt, look at me!”

Newt turned to face him. His eyes were glowing red, but as soon as he saw Minho the glow and the roar died. He clambered over the witness stand and ran into Minho’s arms, shaking all over.

“It’s okay,” Minho whispered, kissing his head. “It’s okay. Sit down with Clinton, I’ll sort this out.”

“Your Honor,” Jones was saying as Newt retreated, “it’s obvious what’s happened. The DA has trained a feral were. I move that Mr. Newton’s testimony--”

“Your Honor, I will give you five reasons why everything Mr. Jones just said is factually wrong,” Minho interrupted.

Judge Paige gestured for him to continue. She alone had been totally unfazed by the outburst.

Minho held up a finger. “‘Feral’ is a legal term that can only be applied after an evaluation by a court-appointed psychiatrist with a license to treat weres. It has four main criteria. First, indiscriminate aggression. The fact that Clinton was able to question Newt without getting chewed to bits automatically rules out ferality.” He held up another finger. “If it didn’t, the second criterion is ‘inability to respond appropriately’ where ‘appropriately’ means ‘as a human.’ Newt can talk.” Another finger. “The third is ‘inability to respond appropriately’ where ‘appropriately’ means ‘as an animal.’ This is the tricky part that most people overlook.” He glanced pointedly at Jones. “It means that Newt’s actions disprove ferality, because he did exactly what an animal should--he responded aggressively, showing teeth and establishing dominance.” Another finger. “The last criterion is ‘inability to respond to human language.’ Newt can talk.”

He turned to face Jones fully. “And I promised you five reasons, Your Honor, and here’s the last one: Alphas _cannot_ be declared feral. At all. Newt, dead pack or not, is still an Alpha.”

He looked back at Judge Paige. “I’m going to help him calm down,” he said. “And then I’m going to request that I relay the rest of the questions so that Jones can’t try to intimidate my _patient_ anymore.”

“Granted,” Judge Paige said.

Minho turned and went back to Newt.

To Miho’s surprise, when Newt was back on the stand, Jones didn’t have many more questions. His Hail Mary having failed, he was resigned to letting Newt testify.

“Redirect, Your Honor,” Clinton said when Jones sat back down.

“Go ahead,” Judge Paige said.

Minho glanced at the jury. They seemed to have recovered. Some of them seemed afraid, but one or two of them were looking at Newt with something like awe.

“Newt,” Clinton said. “How do you know Janson ordered the death of your pack?”

Minho relayed the question.

Newt didn’t take his eyes off Minho as he said, “Because I heard him. One of the guards dialed and said there was a raid and I heard Janson saying ‘Kill them all.’”

%MCEPASTEBIN%

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on Tumblr at crankifiedartist. I don't bite--and I post art. :)


	11. Epilogue

“Fuck,” Newt hissed.

Minho glanced at him, keeping up the gentle motions of his hand on his shoulder. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Short deliberation means…”

Newt shook his head jerkily. “Short deliberation is almost never good news when--when it’s a crime against one of mine.”

Minho squeezed his shoulder gently and led the way back into the courtroom.

The wait for Judge Paige to arrive was tense. Newt kept glancing at the empty jury box like they might have reemerged, but they stayed in the back until Paige had taken her seat. When they came out, the tension threading through Newt’s muscles grew even more, until Minho worried he might shatter.

“Relax,” he whispered, kissing Newt’s temple. “You’re going to be fine.”

Judge Paige had instructed the jury, reminding them that Newt’s testimony counted for all twelve of his dead pack members as well as his own. Mr. Jones’s defense had been weak, as far as Minho was concerned. There was no reason the jury’s short deliberation shouldn’t be good news.

Still, as they filed into the jury box, some of Newt’s tension rubbed off on him.

“Has the jury reached a verdict?” Paige asked.

The foreman stood. “We have, Your Honor.”

“And in the first count of the indictment, kidnapping in the first degree, how do you find?”

Newt was a bundle of iron wires under Minho’s hand. This was it. With charges this severe, all they needed was one guilty verdict and Janson would be away for the rest of his life.

“We find the defendant guilty.”

Newt went limp, sagged against Minho. Minho held him close as Judge Paige kept reading the charges.

It took what felt like hours. There were thirteen counts of kidnapping, twelve counts of first-degree murder, and endless counts of torture. And every time that same verdict.

_ Guilty. Guilty. Guilty. _

Newt melted so far that his head was against Minho’s chest, breathing deep and ragged. Minho held him close, kept petting him as the verdicts were read.

Janson was gone. Even if somehow he managed to beat one of the charges on appeal, he’d never beat them all.

He knew it, too. The moment Paige announced the date for sentencing, the man was on his feet and lunging toward Newt. “You!” he yelled as Mr. Jones tried to restrain his client. “I should’ve killed you when I had the chance!”

Before the verdict, Newt would have cowered. Now he got to his feet, eyes flaring red. “You _tried!_ ” he yelled back. “You tried and you failed and for what you did to my pack you’re going to _rot!_ ”

Paige banged her gavel on the desk. Guards dragged Janson away. Minho wrapped his arms around Newt, pulling him close as the anger dissipated and left him shaking again.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, kissing his head. “It’s okay. We won. He’s gone, he can’t hurt you anymore.”

“There are appeals,” Newt muttered.

“They won’t win an appeal,” Minho said. “No one wins an appeal for crimes against weres.” Once a guilty verdict was handed down, packs considered it their right to deal with any criminals who escaped their sentence. Unless some overwhelming evidence cleared Janson’s name, prison would be the safest place for him.

He kissed Newt’s head again. “Come on. Let’s go home.”

~

The rest of the day went perfectly.

Newt rode Morning Star, brought him up to a trot and stood up in the stirrups until Minho told him to sit down. He ate by himself, cleared his whole plate. He showered without being prompted, without help; put on clean pajamas and remembered to put his dirty clothes in the hamper; brushed his teeth for the first time since he’d been with Minho. Minho, for his part, stayed at enough of a distance not to smother Newt, but close enough that he could step in if Newt panicked.

He pulled back when Newt started brushing his teeth, satisfied that the were could handle himself. He went to the bedroom and silently changed into pajamas of his own, leaving the door open so Newt could come in in case he fumbled with the doorknob.

He was almost surprised when he turned around a minute later and there was Newt, hair wet from the shower, smelling of Minho’s soap and shampoo, dark eyes fixed on Minho.

Minho smiled, suddenly feeling absurdly shy. Newt had never looked more human, and he realized with a jolt that the were had ignored his own sweatpants and put on a pair of Minho’s. “How you feeling?”

“Good,” Newt murmured, coming inside and closing the bedroom door behind him. “Really good, thanks to you.”

“Yeah?” Minho smiled. “Good. That’s good.”

Newt studied him, taking another step into the room. “I can--tell how you feel about me, you know,” he said. “I can smell it.”

Minho swallowed. “Sorry,” he said. It was, suddenly, the only thing he could think to say.

Newt smiled, a barely-there shy little thing. “Don’t be,” he said. “I don’t--mind it, really. I just--want to know why feeling’s all you do.”

Minho blinked, swallowed again. “I--you weren’t talking,” he said. “And you--were scared. I wanted--to be safe. I wanted this to be a safe place for you.”

Newt nodded, taking another step forward. “Well,” he said slowly. “I’m talking now.” He stepped up to Minho, so close they were almost touching. “I’m safe now,” he continued, toying with the hem of Minho’s shirt. He looked up at him. “You could kiss me. For real, I mean.”

Minho swallowed hard, staring into Newt’s eyes. The were looked up at him, patient, waiting. Trusting. Trusting Minho not to hurt him.

He was still so fragile, Minho thought. If something went wrong, he could spiral again.

But this was Newt. Newt who’d lived through more than Minho could imagine and recounted every detail to a courtroom full of people. Newt who’d only hours ago seen his worst nightmare fall to pieces. Newt who’d survived a bullet to the _head._ He was stronger than Minho had treated him. And he wanted Minho. Somehow, absurdly, he wanted Minho.

Newt read his hesitation wrong. He took a step back. “I understand,” he said quietly. “I’ll sleep in the guest room.”

“No,” Minho blurted. He grabbed Newt’s wrist, pulled him close, and kissed him.

Newt gasped into his mouth, hands flying up to tangle in Minho’s hair, body pressed flush against him. Minho groaned, pressing Newt closer with a hand on the small of his back, carding his fingers through the were’s blond hair. They were both panting when he pulled back.

“Fuck,” Newt whispered. “I--I have to tell you. Before this goes further.”

“Tell me what?” Minho asked.

Newt swallowed, licked his lips. “I can’t--date you,” he said. “I mean--we--my kind don’t date. We fall in love, we mate, and we stay together through almost anything. I won’t--I mean if you’re going to leave, if you’re just trying this out--”

“I’m not,” Minho promised, and kissed him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is it. We're done. At this point I'm not planning a sequel, because Newt is very insistent on needing at least one happy ending and this is quite the happy ending for him. I do have ideas for a sequel, though, so if that changes, or if demand outweighs Newt's whining, it might happen.


End file.
